#he flew away a few minutes after this video

[swampwizards]

Found this handsome fella this morning!

Hyalophora cecropia

#a beautiful boy #ecology #entomology #bugs #moths #he’s warming up his flight muscles #he flew away a few minutes after this video

[vivwritesfics]

Max Verstappen Shirt

The fans and fellow wags don't like it when she wears the same out fit to a Grand Prix. She doesn't much care

There were quite a few things Max liked about dating an ordinary girl. 1) she had no idea who he was. 2) she had no idea who his friends were. 3) she didn't expect anything from him.

Max could get takeout for them while they watched a movie and she would be happy. He didn't have to take her out to fancy, overpriced restaurants. He didn't have to take her out shopping for a new outfit every time they left the apartment.

Now, Max would have done all if this I'd she asked. But she didn’t ask. She appreciated him the way he was.

It was a little while into their relationship before Max took her to her first Grand Prix. Her outfit was cute and extremely weather appropriate. A cute top and a cute pair of jeans. Max walked her through the paddock with his hand on the small of her back.

When Max won, he ran over to his team, jumping into their arms. And then he was taking his helmet off, replaced it with his hat and walked over to her, kissing her slowly. (It was captured on video, and circulated the Internet for weeks. Every time it came across her feed, she couldn't stop herself from sending it to Max).

At the next Grand Prix she dressed as well as she could. The jeans were the same, but the top was different. Her outfit was both complimented and criticised online.

Not that she saw the criticism. No, all she saw was the video of Max kissing her after his win. Of her wrapping her arms so tight around him as she peppered kisses all over his face beforing giving him maybe the most memorable kiss of his life.

She knew Max had money. She was aware of it every time she flew in his private jet. Every time she stayed in his Monaco apartment. Every time he drove her in his cars. She knew he had money, but she didn't want him buying her stuff.

No, that wasn't the reason she was with him. She wasn't there because he was an F1 driver, because he could buy her everything she ever wanted. She was there because he was a cute, slightly dorky guy that she wanted to spend every waking minute with.

She remembered the first time she wore the same thing twice to a Grand Prix. The outfit was so cute, but it didn't matter how cute it was.

So far, all of the other wags had been so lovely to her. They were kind, but she hadn't been around long enough to really be friends with any of them.

It was Daniels girlfriend that pulled her to one side before the race. The two had spent the most time together out of any of the wags she had met so far (aided by Maxs friendship with Daniel).

"Hey Love," she said, wearing a charming smile as she wrapped her arms around her. "I love the top. Have I seen it before?" Daniels girlfriend asked.

Y/N couldn't help but grin as she looked down at her top. "Thanks!" She grinned. "Found it really cheap, wore it to Monaco," she said.

Daniels girlfriend sucked in a breath. "Well, as a general rule, Wags don't wear the same outfit to two grand prix," she said, her hand on her shoulder. "Not unless they really have to."

The way she said it, she was clearly implying something. But she wasn't the only person thinking it. There were people online saying the same thing.

"Well, nice catching up," Daniels girlfriend said and walked away, leaving her alone.

She couldn't bring herself to look dejected as she walked back to the Red Bull garage. Unlike other Wags, she didn't have the funds for a new outfit every race. Max would have been only too happy to buy her a new outfit for every Grand Prix if she asked.

But she wouldn't ask.

"What's up?" Asked Max as she walked towards him with an unintentional pout on her lips.

She quickly replaced the pout with when she looked up at him. "Nothing," she said. "Just hold me."

Doubt and all kinds of negative feelings consumed her. But she was a fighter and she needed to do something about it.

There are incredible things you can find on Etsy, like This Shirt Right Here. She bought herself one. No, she bought herself five. The first time she turned up wearing one, it was iconic. The second time she went to a Grand Prix wearing one, it was still iconic.

If the wags and the fans had a problem with her wearing the same thing to each Grand Prix, they could suck her dick.

#max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max Verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #mv1 #mv1 imagine #mv1 x reader #mv33 #mv33 imagine #mv33 x reader #f1 #formula one #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine

[shapard]

Yeah I just got a idea for a scenario, if you don't want to that ok. date night with lucifer playing untitled goose game, I know it's not ducks but would still be funny 🤣

Playing the Untitled Goose Game with Lucifer🪿

Fluff, Lucifer being a boomer

Lucifer x Reader

Lucifer was working on one of his dozen duck’s creations. 

He was too deep into his work that he didn’t sense you coming from behind.

You called out his name and he was startled at your sudden presence that he jumped up from his seat. 

The duck flew out of his hand flying into one of many piles of little ducklings. 

Dumbfounded he looked at his hands, “… My.. DUCK!”

You watched guilty as Lucifer threw himself right after it, searching for it. 

After a while he came back up, “She’s gone…” He pouted, “Well, just going to make another one.” He stood back up fixing his hair and his tuxedo. 

“Luci?” You called out for him, he completely forgot that you were standing there.

“Oh- OH! Hello Sweetie!” In a blink of an eye, he had you in a death grip, hugging you closely against his body. 

He stepped back and gave you a wide smile. “Next time please knock, you scared the shit out of me.” He laughed nervously and looked up to you with his loving eyes. 

His eyes travelled on your hands which were hiding something behind your back. “What do you have there.” He pointed at your hidden hands. 

Remembering why you were here in the first place, you smirked and pulled out a game named “Untitled Goose Game”.

Lucifer looked at you confused. 

“A game?” You nod furiously. “Can you please play it while I watch? Like a little date?”

After a while of being in a relationship with him you found out that he hates TV, and everything that came with it. 

He had an old Tv and it barely worked. For you he made an exception and bought one of those newer Flat Tv (The newest). 

When you found that game you just knew you must play it with him.

It was a game about a Goose?!

Who doesn't like Geese?

Lucifer sighed, “You know I don’t like any Tv related things. Maybe something else, for tonight?” He asked nervously, fidgeting with his tuxedo.

After minutes of Arguments, you both were sitting in couple duck pajamas on the Couch.

You two were cuddled up together and he had you in his Arms.

He didn't look impressed at all.

He agreed to play that game with you if you wear couple pajamas, he bought few weeks ago.

And you gladly accept.

You explained to him the main controls of the controller and he started to curse:

“Why is this so complicated?”

“Why doesn't it work?!”.

“You’re being so dramatic.” You said and Lucifer glared at you. “Here you can move the goose.” You moved the link stick to show him. 

You danced in Victory when you saw him playing after minutes of rage.

Finally he pressed the right buttons.

With sparkling eyes, he walked around as a goose in the game he was already obsessed.

He moved the goose easily around the game and he honked at almost everything in the game. 

It was so adorable.

He loved this game. 

Even though he rages every time someone shoos him away.

Once he even tried to throw the controller at the human in the Tv. you managed to stop him just in time. 

He was very pissed at the humans in the game screaming every second: “Let me through!”

"How dare they not let me pass?! I'm the king of Hell!" You stroked his back, calming him down. "It's just a game."

It was a simple, stupid game but he loves everything about it.

And he’s secretly thankful you bought him this game.

He squealed like a child who got a Lollipop when he discovered he could swim in the little lake. 

Even when you fell asleep and woke up in the morning after you saw Lucifer still playing the game. Fighting with the urge to go to sleep. 

Maybe you changed his mind about Video games and Tv with this little date night.

He finally did something else than working on his hyper fixation about ducks.

But now he started to also make rubber Gooses.

A/n: I hope this meet your expectations! I completely forgot about this game's existence💀.

💫

@i-have-no-life-charlie @sirenetheblogger

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #shapard #request #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #untitled goose game #Lucifer scenario #scenario

[izvmimi]

cw: fluff. pop star!bakugou. prior breakup mention. based on the story behind the eyes, nose, lips mv, iykyk.

Even if you guys are closer than can be, your friends are typically more likely to text before they call, especially at this time of night, and less likely are they to accost you in a sudden video call the way they are now. You were asleep, just by stroke of luck waking up to the sound of your phone vibrating on your end table, too exhausted to put your phone on Do Not Disturb. It’s just a few minutes after midnight, 12:06 am to be exact, and when you pick up the phone, both of them appear frantic.

“Oh, thank God.”

“___, please tell me you’re away from a phone right now.”

“Dumbass, we’re literally calling her on the phone right now.”

“Don’t call me a dumbass.”

Still rubbing your eyes, you let out a sigh.

“Why did you two call me?” You’re still horizontal, trying to orient yourself while lowering your phone brightness. It’s entirely dark in your room, and you’ve been exhausted all day between errands and other activities, including a single 25 minute cry over your failed relationship.

It’s been 3 months since you and Katsuki split, and while you’ve overall been handling it quite well, intermittently the sadness overtakes you. After all, it was abrupt.

Dating a pop star was not all it’s cracked up to be, especially when it ends abruptly over a dinner you could never afford yourself with the words “take care of yourself, okay?” from a man you’d planned the rest of your life with. The last thing you’d asked him to do before that was to go public, and he’d been hesitant to, and you don’t know what happened between then and that night, because it all ended all too quickly, with you crying on the limo ride home. 

3 months later and you were almost over it until you chanced on a photo you’d forgotten to hide away in your digital memoirs and proceeded to sob.

“So uh… have you spoken to Katshole recently?”

You roll your eyes at the nickname your friend has given him, not bothering to tell her now to be nice. “No.”

It still annoys you. “Please stop calling him that.”

“Fine.”

Your other friend sighs.

“So uh, anyway, he dropped a video.” You raise your eyebrow.

“I mean, sure. Is the girl in it hot?” you ask. You pretend you haven’t been looking at his social media intermittently, trying to see if there was someone new in his life, but either way Katsuki prided himself on keeping his private life hidden away, so you wouldn’t be able to tell unless it was someone equally famous or advantageous to his career.

Your two friends both grimace at the same time. One says, “I mean yes, but not in the way you think.”

You blink.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You’re up and seated now, bedsheets pulled to your lap. You’ve minimized the video and are now typing his name into Google, and can see, indisputably, that he’s posted a new music video.

“Why did you guys wake me up for this?”

“Babe, listen to me carefully. If you’re not ready to get back together, do not click this video.”

Your heart thumps, while both of your friends watch you with bated breath, as your face contorts, trying to figure out what that means.

“I-”

“You’re in the video.”

You blink rapidly, your eyebrows still furrowed together, as your heart rate starts to pick up. Your mouth opens then closes.

You’re in the video.

“She’s done for,” one of your friends says, reading the look on your face, and sighs. “I’m gonna hang up, I’ll see you in the morning.”

All of you say your goodnights, and of course, you remain up, your face basking in the blue light of your cell phone, as you watch Katsuki’s urgent music video supposedly with you in it.

The video culminates in Katsuki, standing by a painted mural, and you recognize the photo, an image of your face from the first time he flew you out to paint in Italy, something that would have won any girl over just from the expense and planning, but won you over because he chose you as his model, because you can still remember how his lips parted as he mixed the right colors for your hair.

I’m sorry, please pick up my call, the video closes with the words written in his handwriting, and said with his voice, and you can feel the tears streaming down your face as you wordlessly cry.

And then your phone rings.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #daydreams: bnha #mimi's notes

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Call Interrupted

Summary: Jensen is on a call that seems to be stressing him out. Y/N has some ideas to help him de-stress.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut. All smut. Oral (m receiving), unprotected PinV sex, slightly rough sex (it could just be classified as very energetic! 😉), very light spanking, very brief fingering, public sex if you squint.

Pairings: Jensen x Reader

Word Count: 1,358

A/N: So, sometimes my brain is just very unruly. I have a gazillion things I should be writing, requests that I'm so excited to get to, next chapters that I'm happy to continue with, etc. But did I write any of those this evening? No, of course not.

Instead, my stupid brain got caught up in a little conversation I was having with @suckitands33 about her post that I reblogged and added a few more pictures to. The conversation was regarding the picture of Jensen that I included in the title card above. That conversation wouldn't leave my brain, and this is what came out. It's all filth, of course. 😏 Enjoy! 🥰

The beautiful dividers here were created by @plum98

"I don't know, Shelia, what are the benefits?"

Jensen's voice was frustrated and stressed as you walked into his office and saw he was on a call. He had his AirPods in so it looked a bit like he was talking to himself. But he was obviously talking to his manager, Sheila. Discussing some upcoming projects, no doubt. 

You'd only come in to ask him what he wanted for dinner. But he seemed so stressed - his shoulders were rigid and he was holding his head in his hand - that dinner flew out the window. 

He needed some stress relief right now.

You walked towards his desk and he looked up and gave you a tight smile. You peered around his computer monitor to see if he was on a video call. But the monitor was black, so you were good to go. 

You spun him in his office chair so he was facing you instead of the desk. He gave you a quizzical look, but then you sank to your knees and reached for his zipper and the look became scorching hot. You got his zipper open and were reaching for the button on his jeans when he grabbed your wrist. He pointed a finger at his airpods, obviously telling you he was on a call. But you just shrugged and raised your free hand, putting a finger to your lips.

"Shh..." 

You pulled your wrist free of his slackened grip and unbuttoned him. You reached in and pulled out his heavy, half-hard cock, licking up the underside of it and making him clench his jaw and drop his head against the back of his tall, leather office chair.

You wasted no time in going down on him, bobbing your head up and down, quick and then slow. After a few minutes of alternating speeds, you wrapped your lips tight around the head of his cock, and sucked hard. He sank his teeth deep into his plump bottom lip as he fisted his hand in your hair.

Then you took him all the way in, letting him sink an inch or two down the back of your throat and then swallowing around him. His fist tightened in your hair and he pulled hard, as his other hand clenched into a fist that he pushed against his mouth as he tried desperately not to make a noise.

You came up off of him gasping slightly and slurping up the spit and come that still connected your lips to his cock.

You stood up and quickly shed your t-shirt and leggings. You wore no bra. You turned away from him as you pushed down your panties, bending over when they reached your ankles so you could pull them off, giving him a straight on view of your glistening cunt.

"Fuck." He groaned quietly. 

And then he spoke louder."No, no Sheila. I'm just uh...just thinking...it's good. Keep...keep going. I'm listening."

You giggled as you straightened up and walked over to him and climbed onto his lap, straddling him. You braced your hands on his thick, round shoulders and lined his cock up at your entrance. You nibbled on his lips as you sank down on him. It was almost impossible for both of you not to groan out the pleasure sweeping over your bodies. 

When you were fully seated on him, you began to unbutton his dark blue shirt, pressing your lips against every new inch of skin you revealed. 

When you licked his right nipple into your mouth and bit it gently he bucked his hips and you couldn't hold back anymore. You started raising yourself up and down slowly at first, but the exquisite stretch of his thick cock made you impatient, and you were soon riding him hard and fast.

You pushed your hands under his open shirt and gripped his shoulders again, using them as leverage to slam down on him. 

He squeezed your left breast in his hand and began to flick his tongue back and forth against your nipple. You sank your hand into his hair and moaned loudly. 

You slapped a hand over your mouth, but Jensen was quickly apologizing to Sheila.

"You know, Sheila, sorry," his voice was tight and incredibly strained, "sorry, I've gotta. There's like a weird, something with the call. I'm gonna have to call you back." 

He abruptly ended the call, slamming his hand down on the end button on his phone. He pulled his AirPods out, and you couldn’t help laughing. 

"Sorry, baby! I was trying to keep quiet."

Jensen gave a playful growl and easily pulled you off of him. He stood up and flipped you around, shoving his chair back, and quickly bending you over so you had to press your hands against the desk.

As you looked over your shoulder at him, he pushed his jeans all the way off and yanked his shirt off completely, positioning himself at your entrance. Before he sank into you, however, he brought his hand down with a soft slap to your ass; it was still hard enough to make it jiggle. You gasped and he reached over his body to slap your other cheek.

"Unh!" You grunted and dropped your head down to dangle between your arms where they were braced against the desk. 

Jensen spoke with a rough growl. "That was to punish you for disrupting an important phone call." He slammed himself into you, so deep you swore you could feel him in your throat.

He leaned down and slid his lips against the shell of your ear. "And this," he said moving in and out of you with a silky, languid rhythm, "is to thank you for it."

His thrusts were targeted, slowly sliding his cock along your convulsing walls to perfectly slam against your sweet spot. The pleasure was so thick that it was almost excruciating and you were soon begging him for more.

"Please, Jensen, harder, faster."

"Okay, baby." He placed kisses down your spine. "Hold on tight."

Your hands were flat against his desktop, and you tried to brace yourself there.

But he slammed into you so hard, your arms folded and you had to shove his keyboard and some papers out of the way so you could lay yourself across the desk.

He didn't stop, slamming against you so hard, you knew the fronts of your thighs would be bruised from the hard wooden desk. But you didn’t care, you wanted him to fuck you black and blue.

The coil low in your stomach was tightening and tightening until it finally exploded, making you scream and drag your nails over the desk uselessly, scratching at it without purchase.

Jensen still didn't stop, fucking you through your climax and the next one too, before he finally pushed his hands against your shoulder blades, crushing you into the desk while his hips pistoned forward, jackhammering into you until he let out a shout of ecstasy, shuddering and bucking into you over and over as he spurted hot and thick into your soaked cunt. 

His breath was hot and harsh against the back of your neck, until he finally moved to brace himself against the desk, slowly pulling out of you. He pulled his chair back over to him and sank into it so he could watch his cum slowly drip out of your pussy.

"Fuck." He swore, his voice ragged. He grabbed hold of you and pulled you back into his lap, turning you so you could rest your exhausted head against his shoulder. 

He let out a soft chuckle as he let his hand trail over your body, and up and down your legs. 

"Was this what you came in here for?"

You smiled and shook your head. "Actually, I wanted to know what you want for dinner. But you seemed stressed."

"Hmm." he said softly. "Well, mission accomplished. I'm not stressed anymore."

His smile was wicked as he ran his wandering hand over your pussy, sliding two thick fingers through the sloppy mess of your cunt. 

"And I definitely know what I want to eat."

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @akshi8278 @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

#jensen ackles rpf #jensen x reader #jensen ackles smut #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles drabble

[gavidaily]

Hey! Here's the 'ELCLÁSICO Next Gen' interview from DAZN in English translated by yours truly 💖 enjoy!

I: Do you remember this moment during the game? The match against Sevilla, Robert Lewandowski made a foul, you said something, right? 

G: I do remember, I always try to be myself on the pitch, everyone knows me on the team and they know how I am, but I always respect everyone. 

I: What happened there? 

G: I think we were in the last minute of the match and Robert made a foul in the corner and we suffer a lot with this kind of action and I got a bit stressed. 

I: Here against Osasuna, the hit you got in your ear, I think you got four staples, right? Did it hurt?

G: Yes, it was four. The last one [hurt] above all, I told the doctor: “I’m gonna sh*t myself”. 

I: We can see it in your face that it hurt.

G: It didn’t hurt that much because I was in the middle of the match, when they took it away, it hurt more. 

I: How was it, what was the feeling of getting stapled? 

G: To be honest, I don’t remember much, I just wanted to get back on the pitch. 

I: This shows your commitment and sacrifice.

G: Yeah, I always try to help with everything I’ve got. 

I: What would you be up to do in a match for Barça?

G: If I’m not at the hospital, everything.

The interviewer shows him a video of some plays where he uses his head nearly hitting the ground to save a ball. I: Another thing that shows [your commitment]... I don’t know if you think about doing it or you just do it. 

G: During the matches, you have to think very fast and I always try to think as fast as possible. Yeah, after the match I watched and to be honest, I was a bit scared but when I’m on the pitch, warmed up, nothing matters.

I: What did your mother say when she sees these kinds of things?

G: To be honest, my mom doesn’t even watch the matches anymore, she gets very scared. Before the matches she always tells me ‘be careful, don’t get into fights…”. I always try to tell her to be calm. 

I: Do you feel like everything flew by very fast? Because from the outside, we feel like it has but I don’t know if you feel like it?

G: Yes, it went by very fast since I debuted on the first team. Now I believe it’s my 3rd year, with more than 100 matches, the truth is that it went by pretty fast.

From the article, there’s a few quotes (that are probably on the full video)

“I already knew about him (Jude Bellingham), that he was a very great player. He’s been showing in Madrid, but of course they have a lot of other complete players and you don’t have to fix on one player, but on the whole team.”

“As a player, I like Tchouaméni a lot, he’s a top player.”

#gavi #pablo gavi #*interview #do not let me embarrass myself on the internet: let me know (kindly) if there are any typos/mistakes

[buzzzlove]

Nicholas

I missed you

Keeping a secret from your boyfriend has never been easy. You would think now that he was in a different country, you would have it somewhat easier, but no.

He has been promoting in South Korea for their new comeback and it has been a tough few weeks to be honest. He thought he would be used to it by now but he has actually been finding it more difficult. He has been away from home for much longer, but having you waiting for him this time has made his heart hurt a bit more every night. The two of you video call every day and sometimes even multiple times a day. That's how you also picked up that he was struggling. You see, your boyfriend was never one to completely share how he was feeling so the fact that he was being so clingy, even though you didn't mind, showed you something was wrong. So you ended up messaging Euijoo and arranging to meet with them all in Korea.

"I'm so glad you are coming. Nicholas has been so difficult to deal with the last few weeks," Euijoo breathed out after the plans were settled.

"I noticed. He has been a bit off since you left actually," you said down the phone.

"He's not talking much, but I think he really needs you here."

You felt your heart melt slightly at his words. You already knew you would be struggling to hide this from him.

Time flew and suddenly you were headed to the airport to catch your flight to Seoul. You've been quieter than normal today and not messaging Nicholas as much as usual. You usually respond to him instantly, but suddenly you were taking half an hour or longer to reply. He didn't want to seem pushy so he had been letting it slide, but you knew he was noticing it. So when you suddenly felt a call come through on your phone, you knew why.

Quickly answering, you said: "Hey baby! I was just about to message you." You tried muffling the noise by covering the phone with your hand but you doubted it helped much.

"Hello? Where are you? It's very loud," you could almost hear the confusion in his voice.

"I just came to the mall. It's very busy today," you laughed out quickly, hoping he believed you.

"Really? That's weird..." he trails off.

"Can I call you when I'm home again? I can barely hear you," you huffed out as you dragged your suitcase behind you.

"Yeah, that's fine," his voice was quite the opposite from his words though. There was an immediate drop in his tone and you heard the exhausted sigh leave his mouth.

Your heart clenched as you managed to say, "I can't wait to see your face my love. Call you in a bit, okay?"

"Me too. Love you," he mumbled.

As soon as you ended the call, you heard the announcement for your flight to board. Excitement took over your face and you half-ran over to your gate.

~~

"Hi Euijoo! I'm outside of the hotel. Can I go up to his room?"

"Y/N-ah! I'm happy to hear you're safe. Yes, he actually went to take a nap a few minutes ago so he should be there. He's been checking his phone the whole day. I think he knows something is up."

"He called me earlier so he must be upset. Did he say anything?" you said as you looked up at the hotel building.

"He didn't say anything but everyone could see something was wrong."

You quickly stuffed your phone into your pocket after saying bye to Euijoo, and made your way into the hotel. He already told you how to get to your boyfriend’s room so you made it there in record time. You breathed out once to settle your nerves before knocking softly three times

Nicholas heard a knock on his door just as he felt himself drift off to sleep. Irritated he yelled out, "Who is it?"

When no answer came, he felt his emotions build even more.

"Who is it?!" he tried again.

It pushed him over the edge when he was met with silence again. He threw the blanket off of him angrily and approached the door with heavy steps.

"I asked 'who is it' so many times! Why didn't anyone ans-" he cut his own sentence off when he opened the door to see you.

"Hi baby. I missed you so mu-"

Nicholas proceeded to cut you off as well as he pulled you into his arms and tightly against his chest.

Giggling, you mumbled against him, "I guess you missed me too, huh"

This time you didn't get an answer. A verbal one at least. You started feeling Nicholas shake against you as he cried into your shoulder, finally letting out his emotions.

"Baby? Hey, what's wrong?" you whispered as you rubbed your hands up and down his back, trying to calm him down.

"I just didn't realise how much I needed you with me until now," he sniffed, "I missed you so much."

Pulling away just enough to see his face, you smiled lightly at him. You used your thumbs to wipe the tears from his eyes as you said, "I'm sorry I was so quiet today. I wanted to keep this a surprise."

"Well you succeeded in keeping it a surprise just as much as you freaked me out," he let out a watery giggle, "but I'm so glad you are here."

"I'm here for the next three weeks though so remember saying that when you start getting tired of me."

He finally let out a real giggle as he looked into your eyes. He placed a short and soft kiss on your lips before pulling you against him again.

"Thank you for coming. I love you," he breathed out against your neck.

"I love you too Nicho."

#&team #&team fanfic #&team fluff #&team angst #&team imagines #&team scenarios #&team soft hours #&team reactions #&team masterlist #&team boyfriend #&team euijoo #&team k #&team fuma #&team nicholas #&team jo #&team harua #&team maki #&team taki #&team yuma #&team nicholas imagine #&team nicholas fluff #kpop #kpop imagines

[howellatme-writes]

Tomb Buster

Steven Grant x gn!reader, hints of Marc Spector gn!reader

Summary:

You returned from a trip abroad and are trying to get the spare key back to the apartment from Steven. However, you are unable to catch either of the boys due to their busy schedule, and you start to wonder if they are ignoring you.

Themes and warnings: Neighbors, Neighbors to lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hints of abuse, not beta-read, no use of y/n, gender-neutral reader (If I missed any warnings pls, let me know, and I'll add!)

Made for Moon Knight-cember Day 17/18: Rainy Day and/or VHS tape

Word Count: 3.4k

Author's Notes: First fic on my new writer's blog! I probably won't post very often, but I thought it would be nice to have a spot for my fics on Tumblr! Also, the first time I tried to specifically stay gender neutral with the reader, if I missed any pronouns, feel free to let me know!

It had been a few days since you returned from the trip abroad, and you still couldn’t catch Steven to get the spare key back to your apartment. His schedule was often the opposite of yours, and every time, you just continued to miss each other by mere minutes to and from the system’s various jobs. The responses to your texts to meet up the past few days were from Marc. They were short and avoidant, unlike the flirty, flowery texts Steven would send you featuring selfies with the plants he had watered for that day. 

One night, Steven initiated a late-night video chat, trying to cheer you up after a difficult night with your parents and co-workers. Then you realized the neighbor across the hall might have liked you more than you thought. His tired smile while he lay in bed at 2 in the morning, the freshly showered curls he brushed out of his face while he consoled you and let you vent about your issues made you realize you liked him back just as much. He told you about his boss, Donna, while you told him about your equally horrible boss while you’re stationed across the pond for work. Towards the end of your trip, you were starting to miss your home away from home more than you enjoyed being in your hometown, and it desperately showed in another Facetime call.

Marc started fronting the last few nights before you flew home, and the conversations were short. There were no selfies with your plants. He would just text, “Watering is done.” or “This cat’s shits are the worst thing I ever smelled.” Steven didn’t front as much, but his presence was still there. He even added googly eyes to the potted plants just to make you smile and laugh. Marc had sent you a phone with the caption, “I guess Steven snuck in when I thought I was asleep.” By the time you boarded your flight back to London, you were yearning to talk to Steven again, but it didn’t seem like you had that connection with Mark.

It was a rainy day, and you had just taken some of your propagated spider plants and potted them in some small terracotta pots when you checked your phone once again to see when you could meet up with Steven or Marc to get your spare key back. Nothing. You sat on the couch, placed the little spider plants on the coffee table, and leaned your elbows on your knees, your hand holding your chin as you huffed out a sigh, looking aimlessly around your apartment. If they weren’t interested, they would at least give you your key back, right? Hell, even just slide it under your door and never speak to you again. That was an option, too, right? Why are the boys stalling?

You reached to the sheet of googly eyes left by Steven and placed two eyes on each side of the plants’ pots. You couldn’t help but chuckle, and you decided to take it to the next level by reaching to grab a Sharpie to draw mouths to accompany each pair of eyes. On one side of the pot, a sad face with a tear, the other a smiley face. You did that with two of the pots, turning the sad faces towards you. You study them and pull out your phone, taking a picture of the tragic little spider plants, turn the pots, and repeat with the other side. Feeling mischievous and opening the texts, scrolling down to find their number, you attach the picture of the sad pots with the caption: “The plants miss you.” and hit send, waiting for his reaction.

After a few hours of sound sleep, you gradually become aware of a faint buzzing sound. As you start to stir and open your eyes, you realize your phone is on the table next to you, vibrating with incoming messages. You stretch your arms and legs, feeling your cat's weight on your chest and the warmth of its fur against your skin. Slowly, you sit up on the couch, blinking and yawning before picking up your phone. You squint at the screen, adjusting to the brightness, and see that two new texts are waiting for you. Your heart skips a beat as you realize they're from Steven, the person you've been waiting to hear back from. As you unlock your phone, your cat moves to the opposite end of the couch and curls up, seemingly undisturbed by your sudden movement.

“We should turn those plants' frowns upside down! -S” sent the text at 6:00 pm.

“???”- Was the last text sent at 9:00 pm.

The clock on the wall showed 9:52 PM, and you let out a deep sigh. You walked up to the window and glanced outside, only to see that it was pitch black and raining heavily. You couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment, as you knew that you had probably missed meeting up with the boys again. You knew that Marc often picked up late-night shifts, but he never told you what he did.

With a tiny sliver of hope, you slide your phone into your pocket and pick up the two plants you had meant to give Steven. You stepped into some comfy slippers, went to his apartment across the hall, and knocked on the door, hoping he was home.

“Just a moment!” Steven calls, and you smile, feeling your heart start to race. After weeks of texting back and forth, you finally get to see him in person. After hearing several locks hurriedly being undone, Steven swings the door open to greet you, “Evenin’ Looking to get your spare key back?” breathing heavily, messy, damp curls in his face with an awkward smile and wrinkled brow. “Oh, you brought plants over?” he looked down at the two small plants with sad faces facing him.

“To be fair, they missed you. Look at them!” You try and smile. “I thought you might like them. A little extra thank you for caring for my cat and plants..”

“Oh. Oh! Thank you!” Steven said wide-eyed, “You can come on in if you like. I think Marc left your key by the fridge.” he gestured, letting you inside.

You step inside and kick your slippers off, looking around in awe at the sheer number of books. You could tell he had a lot of books from the video chats, but the amount of books covering the bookcases and every surface in his flat was beyond your imagination, “Wow… you have your books, I have my plants.” ​​

“I’m not bothering you boys or anything, am I?” you ask distantly. Despite the clutter, the flat just had this cozy feel, like you’d want to sit on a couch and curl up with Steven, blankets, tea, and a book.

“Ahhh yeah. Usually, I do a lot of reading when I can’t sleep.” Steven confessed sheepishly, rubbing his neck, “Would you like a cuppa or anything?” He asked from his tiny kitchen, already grabbing two cups from the cupboard.

“Yeah, sure,” you say, studying the makeshift furniture before you. A wooden top balancing upon half an end table and a sawhorse, with a small desk lamp on the left side, formed the kitchen table. Papers, maps, dirty dishes, and a magnifying glass lay on the table with other small tchotchkes. You walked past it to take in the rest of Marc and Steven’s flat, realizing it probably wasn’t the safest, sturdiest place for his first two plants.

“No. No!” Steven said quickly, “Not sure what Marc was doing before, but judging from the wet hair, probably a shower or somethin’.” Steven suggested offhandly as he put the kettle on.

Steven comes after you and grabs the plants from you, not noticing the hat or gloves. “Sorry about the mess. I’d blame Marc, but he’s always nagging at me to clean. Just never thought we’d have company.” He scurries around as if trying to find a spot to put them. Eventually, he settles, puts the plants on a small coffee table, and rushes to clear the couch of cardboard boxes before gesturing for you to sit down.

You walk further into the flat to see his desk against the skylight. It was still just as cluttered as the makeshift table, but at least the desk didn’t look like it would break with adding a plant or two, but space would have to be made for them. You shuffled around, and your foot bumped into something wet, a newsboy hat and leather gloves tucked under the desk, presumably damp from the rain.

You sit down on the worn leather couch and smile at him, moving one of the open boxes into your lap, just happy he was shifting all this stuff around to make space for you in the apartment, “It’s no problem, really. I was the one that just knocked on your door, no warning.”

“To be fair, Marc should’ve spent the last little bit sorting the place out instead of doing whatever he was doin'. Taking a shower, maybe; everything feels a little damp’,” Steven murmured as he sat on the couch. “ I-I was hoping you would come over, though,” he said, interlocking his own fingers together, not sure what to do with them, before just setting them down on his thighs.

“It’s fine. Really.” you try to reassure Steven, scooting closer to him on the couch, holding the box to your chest. “My apartment was totally deep-cleaned before I left. It’s usually not that clean, a little more cluttered.”

“Oh, yeah? Feel a bit better ‘bout this then.” Steven gestured to his organized chaos of the hastily moved boxes around the both of you.

You move a bit closer to him again under the guise of setting the box by your feet, “How was the flight? Still got any jet lag?” he quietly asks as you set the box down, and a well-worn VHS cover catches your eye, not even recognizing he was trying to make small talk.

You lean forward and pick the VHS up, “What's this relic of the past doing here?” I flip it over and read the title out loud, trying to tease him light-heartedly. “Tomb Buster? Huh. What sort of Off-brand Indiana Jones, B- movie, is this?” you chuckle, holding it up to Steven to show him without looking at the cover.

Steven froze like you had just found something extremely private and personal. “Well…uh-um-” his mouth open and shut, repeatedly struggling to find the words to say. Your brow furrows in confusion, wondering why the movie created such a reaction. He looks at his reflection on the TV in shock.

You turn the VHS tape around and look at the cover more closely. Moving your thumb, you  quietly read the wording at the bottom of the VHS tape, “When danger is near, Steven Grant has no fear?”

Steven darted nervously from the TV fearfully back to you, and he gulped audibly, speaking in a bit of a shaky voice “It’s one of Marc’s all-time favorite movies as a kid. It’s important to him, and he says he’s offended you called it ‘off-brand Indiana Jones.’”

“Oh.” You look back at the TV but don’t see what Steven sees. You spy the VHS player next to the Blu-ray, both covered in a thin layer of dust. “Have you ever seen it?” you ponder curiously.

Steven heaves a heavy sigh and takes the VHS tape from your hands, his warm fingers lingering on top of your own before placing the tape aside, “No. I haven’t.” he confessed quietly, looking up at you with sorrowful eyes. “Don’t think I’ll live up to my namesake.”

“Steven?” your hands reach out to grasp his again, feeling them tremble slightly. You rub the back of his hands with your thumbs, hoping to ease his anxiety.

“I’m not- I’m just something that Marc made up,” he whispered, ashamed, looking down at the VHS tape, “I found out when I saw- the movie poster one day. In his childhood bedroom.” He seemed to zone out for a moment, but when the kettle started whistling, it was like he had jumped out of his skin. He got up without a word, walking quickly to the stove as if thankful for the out in the conversation.

Steven sniffed as he grabbed a tin of tea bags from the cupboard trying to change the subject, “English Breakfast? Chamomile? I have lots. Take your pic.”

You felt awful as you stared down at the VHS tape. Dr. Steven Grant looked back at you as if judging you harshly. The plants' faces that felt comical mimicked the sadness of the heavy topic in the air. It never crossed your mind to ask who was the original and who was the alter. Part of you assumed it was Steven because you saw him the most between the two boys.

You slowly get up from the couch, follow him into the kitchen, and boldly wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him from behind. Steven freezes again, avoiding your gaze, “Chai. I don’t care which one of you is original.” you murmur, resting your head against his shoulder as he slowly prepares his tea. You sighed, your breath on his neck making his hair stand on end, your lips almost brushing against his neck. “Our texts, the late-night Facetime, they were real, right? I always looked forward to your texts. There was something real between us, right?”

Steven nodded as he reached out to pick up the chai tea packet and tore it open. He then dunked the tea bag into the water for you. You tried to catch his gaze as you leaned against the counter to gauge his reaction. He seemed lost in thought, rocking against the countertop and staring straight into space. Finally, he looked at you and began pouring out his emotions. "But I'm not real!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking. "How could you be happy with us? Marc said you'd be daft to care about someone as bonkers as us. He doesn't know why I told you about us in the first place. He thinks we should keep our distance..."

“Steven! Marc!” you exclaim, trying to break his downward spiral, physically turning him into you, your hands grabbing his arms, almost wanting to shake some sense into him “I don’t care! I do care! I mean-”

His lips crash on yours, and before you know it, your hands find his curls, still a little wet from earlier, and he’s leaning against you, his hands on either side of you on the counter. As your cheeks touch, you can feel the tears that spilled down his, dampening your own. As you feel him suck your lower lip, he moves his hands to your hips. After a second, he pulls back, his face tinted with blush, apologizing profusely, “Sorry-I-shouldn’t have- I never- Not like this-”

“It’s okay. It’s more than okay.” I smile, caressing his cheek before kissing him again softly, trying to convey how much you care while your lips move against his.

“We should have a sit-down, yeah?” Steven asked quietly after a minute. You grabbed your mugs and moved back to the couch to sit. Steven takes a bit sip of his tea before setting it down on the coffee table. “I didn’t realize I was created to help Marc until very recently-” he began, and you reached out and rested your hand over his. “The way I found out wasn’t ideal. It was actually pretty traumatic.” He looked over at his reflection on the TV, pausing the conversation as your heart raced.

“Is Marc saying something?” you question

“It’s like we can see and hear each other in reflections sometimes. I don���t know how it works, but it does.” Steven comments, still looking at the black TV screen, before turning to meet your gaze again, “You know we have D.I.D, but I never told you why-”

“Oh Steven, it’s okay, I don’t need to…,” you try to say, squeezing his hand as you set my mug of tea down by the VHS tape. Steven’s guard came down with a small sigh of relief. “Steven, you or Marc can tell me when you’re ready. It doesn’t need to be tonight. We can just hang out or something.”

“Thank you.” Steven smiled earnestly. He looked back down at Tomb Busters and grabbed the tape, “Marc says we need to watch this ‘cinematic masterpiece’ before we trash talk it.” 

He looked at the back of the VHS, reading the synopsis. “Here, you’ll find archaeologist Grant up to his neck in danger and -spiders- up to his kneecaps in crawling arachnids. Steven hates spiders!!” he hums and nods in agreement. “He hates Nazis, too, and he’ll stop at nothing to keep those goose-stepping goons from obtaining the mystical statue of Coyolxauhqui.”

“Sounds like Indiana, but he hates snakes.”

It takes a minute to set it up, but Tomb Buster is playing on the TV as you snuggle into Steven under a blanket. It was almost like Marc and Steven were watching the movie with you. Steven repeated Marc’s commentary as the film went on, and much to your enjoyment, Marc even confessed that the movie was indeed a lot cheesier now that he was watching it as an adult. You were surprised Marc didn’t front to watch it himself, but it seemed like he wanted Steven to have some sort of positive experience with his namesake on the tv.

It was easy to pick up on some of the mannerisms that belonged to both the Steven on screen, and the Steven that gradually shifted to holding you as the movie continued. You would give his hand a slight squeeze or kiss his cheek when something was recognized, hoping it wasn’t too much of a challenging experience to see Marc’s muse for Steven on screen, but if it was, he never lot on. The movie concluded with a hint of a sequel, but after a quick internet search, you find the sequel never made it past the writer’s room.

“Float like a butterfly, sting like a Bee. My name is Steven with a V.” Steven sighed, disappointed when the movie finished. “I thought I came up with that.”

“When did you say that?” you ask, looking up at him.

“A while ago.” he spoke, gazing at you tenderly, “Watching Dr. Grant was odd, but it wasn’t as weird as I thought it would be. Thank you for watching it with us.”

You smile at him and sit up, glancing at the clock on your phone. It was nearly midnight. “Do you have work in the morning?” I asked quietly

Steven shrugs it off, “Yeah, but I don’t sleep much, remember? I’d Facetime you until 2 am at least.”

“I remember. Seeing you lay in bed, I couldn’t help but think your chest would make a good pillow.” you admit, feeling your cheeks heat up at the confession, “and I was right.”

Steven's face flushed with a tinge of pink as he leaned forward and whispered in your ear, his lips brushing against your skin. "Can I kiss you again?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. You couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement in your chest. You nodded, leaning towards him, but he suddenly shifted his position, reaching for the spider plants nearby and hiding their googly-eyed expressions. "Don't need the spider plants watching us, do we?" he quipped, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You couldn't help but laugh at his comment, burying your head in his neck before your lips met again in another slow, passionate kiss. Steven seemed a little unsure of what to do with his hands, but he eventually rested them on your hips, his fingers trailing up and down your sides in a soft caress.

As you leaned your head against Steven's, you whispered breathlessly, "Maybe I don't need that spare key back after all."

You could feel his chest rumble with a soft chuckle as he responded, "Nah." He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close as your lips met once more, the world around you fading away as Steven held you in a sweet embrace.

#mkcember2023 #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant #steven grant x you #Tomb Busters #moonknight #moon knight system #marc spector #steven grant x gender neutral reader #steven grant x y/n #Moon Knight #moonknightcember

[clarks-letterman]

wanted (slowed) | mechanic!billy hargrove x male!reader

a/n — happy stranger things day! here's this, requested by @denim-devil but i couldn't find the request.. sorry babes this is kinda crackfic

warnings — smut 18+!, ass eating, doggy style, degradation

summary — After your car breaks down outside of Hawkins, a certain mechanic stops to help...

words — 2.8k

~~~

"Shit."

The word flew off your tongue to account for every mile you were distanced from Hawkins as you swayed your sputtering vehicle to the shoulder of the asphalt you skidded on, feeling the front wheel of your car dip into the miry soil. You swore at least several times before your car finally halted, sitting on the rounded curve of a back road that you did not know the name of, and a harsh red glow came from your bumper lights as you turned on the hazard signals. 

Each hurling drop of rain violently tapped against your car for a brief second, pattering quickly like the thump of your heart and the mile per minute your mind was still racing at, unlike your dormant automobile. The weather channel called for a storm all night, and if it were not for what was sitting in your backseat, you would not be in the middle of a downpour on some back road just a few miles from Hawkins. The word had traveled around that a new video store in the town next to Hawkins sold explicit tapes and magazines. Some neighbors complained about how vulgar it was to see anything like it on display, yet you indulged yourself in the disdainful word of others. They were a rarity, and you were alone, so it was an easy decision to pick them up the second you heard of them. Unfortunately, you lost the race to beat the rain on your way home. Now, they sat scattered in the back seat of your car, easily visible for anyone to peek over and see. 

Taking a gander out the window and looking past all the little droplets of rain landing against it, you were greeted with absolutely nothing but vegetation and dampened road. Not a single payphone or bus stop could save you from this trouble, and the nearest mechanic was a long walk away. Billy, you think his name was, lived on a street you couldn't remember the name of and had a reputation for charging more than his services were worth. If there was nothing outside that could help you, then turning to the resources in your car might be the best option. Your hand reached for the overhead light as the other followed along with the dashboard until it slipped into the groove of the glovebox handle, fishing out a car manual in pristine condition. 

Unlike many warped pages and manuals yellowed by smoke and age, yours had not even parted from the plastic shrinkwrap clinging to it. It was far from the thing you had hoped to have been reading tonight, but if it provided more help than what was in the pages of the magazines in the seats behind you, then so be it. The first few pages were nothing but categories and the like, with a small section detailing how to diagnose your vehicle's issues catching your eye. You turned to the page numbers noted and scanned through each line, praying for some piece of practical information to help you in any way possible.

To your surprise, a repeated tap came from the other side of your window a few moments later. It was heavier and carried imperfect timing that didn't sound like the rain. You turned to the window, rolling it down once your eyes landed on the shadowy form towering over you with one arm resting on the roof of your car. The rain started to spill through the opening, marking the dry surfaces with an iota of what he was doused in from merely walking from his car to yours. As for the man himself, he looked good in the rain, particularly soaking in it. The solid white tee underneath was made visible by his raised arm taking the flap of his drenched denim jacket with him, leaving the soaked cotton below to cling to his well-worked form, highlighting his buff chest and toned abdomen.

He reeked of smoke, but his teeth weren't yellow as he opened his mouth to talk, a growing smirk as he eyed you. It most likely took shape out of pity, "Hey, you need help?"

You knew the voice instantly, deep and tinged with tobacco in his lungs—Billy Hargrove, the mechanic.

"God, yes." You weren't sure if he could see the desperation in how you flicked through the various volumes and sub-categories of car issues, but he seemed to be the only person for miles. You expected him to mock you like the mechanics in Hawkins for not knowing a muffler pipe from a radiator beam, but the blonde beauty was straightforward with his help, skipping past the opportunity to tease you.

"Pop the hood." You listened to what the soaked man asked of you and reached for the small lever under the wheel, pulling it until you heard the first pop discerning itself from the distant cracks of thunder. He rounded the hood and propped it up with one hand before slamming it back down a few moments later, returning to the same spot he briefly left vacant. 

His evaluation had only taken mere moments, leaving you a bit concerned. It could mean one of two things: your car was irreparable, or he knew exactly how to fix it. The best way to get the answer out of him was to ask. "What's wrong with it?"

"The radiator hose is all kinds of fucked up. It caused your entire engine to overheat," he explained, placing two hands over the split in the door your window descended between. The light spilled over his face—softly drenched but reaming with dominance. You couldn't hold a stare to it, breaking away from his gaze cast on you to eye his fingers. There were two rings, both chunky and filling space on the middle and index fingers on his left hand.

"Can you fix it?"

"Yeah, I got a spare one in the trunk. It might be a little big, but I’m sure it’ll fit. It'll cost you, though—just picked it up from the town over." There was a glint in his eyes as he spoke, gone with a wink directed at you; the hidden treasure in the depths of his piercing blues shone through. He tore his gaze away once he went, pacing back to his sleek, low-riding vehicle.

"Great!" You called out the window, but you were sure he didn't hear you. Billy seemed oddly absent from the conversation when in reality, he stopped to help you. 

It wasn't a huge deal, though, since this wasn't a handout. You could pay Billy for his work and head home to enjoy the cozy indoors and the magazines in your backseat. Then, a sudden burst of panic consumed you; in your scattered state, you hadn't thought to hide them. Did the mechanic see the pitiful pages you planned to use for self-pleasure? Was that why he seemed gone from the conversation while you made yourself look like a fool?

You turned, checking to see if he was still occupied at his car so that you could stash the dirty magazines away from the divulgence provided by the light overhead, but he passed your open window and paced to the hood before you could lift a finger to move them. You popped it again without the need of his word, and he lifted the front end to replace the hose.

"The town over," those words prompted you to wonder why he made a specific mention of that. You glanced into the muddled mirror hanging off the side of your car, and you noticed that this stranger had come from the same direction as you. Maybe you were overcomplicating a simple remark that had no more depth than the road you slid on, but if he was like you, that road could be a barrier to the tender ground underneath. But, this was a rural area and a ways away from anyone else, so one wrong assumption could lead to more than your car taking a blow.

You shook the hope of this stranger being anything close to you in the ways you wished, figuring that you should get whatever cash you had left ready to fork over to him. Reaching for where you kept your money, dread welled inside you as you realized that you spent most of it on those magazines.

Your thoughts were left to gnaw and work their way open into your worries for the fifteen minutes it took Billy to replace the hose. At a certain point, he was back to standing at your window, his hair clinging even more to his face as he leaned down. You had no money, and your face wore that fact so well that you were sure he picked up on it.

You started to blabber, praying that he would be forgiving, "Is there any other way I could repay you? Maybe I could get you something nice at Starcourt?"

"I think I know how you could repay me," he nods his head to the back seat, "Don't think I didn't see those..."

The same panic from earlier rose, carrying your heart with it as you choked out each word, "Oh, yeah, take them. They're all yours."

Reaching for the magazines, you passed them to him without a second thought, watching the crisp, unturned pages softening in the rain. He thumbed through the pages, and his watered face made different expressions to the contents inside, "You're into all this? Jesus..."

Before you could even try to defend yourself, he was already letting the soaked pages slip from his fingers and to the ground. He dug his black-buckled boot into the mess of damp and muddied paper for effect. You didn't have to see it to hear the grit of the gravel shifting against the underside of his boot. Is that all this asshole wanted; to make you look bad? What could he want from you? The question seemed to answer itself. 

"I'll give you something better to look at," he teased. The remnant of his stupid smirk returned, and this time you understood why. 

You went for the door handle, both nervous and excited about what the local legend, and antagonizer, Billy, had in mind. You heard the door behind yours click, and when you stepped out into the rain, you saw his figure illuminated by the headlights of his cruiser.  

"Get in," he briefed. His ring-barren hand held the door open, and you noticed how it was turning shiny from the splattered raindrops as you crawled into the backseat. Propping yourself on your hands and knees was the best way to give him full access in the awkward confinements of your car.

He had no trouble squeezing himself in, pushing you uncomfortably close to the opposite end of the car while giving himself more room than he needed. You could feel his damp clothes seeping onto yours, his mop-like hair being the worst offender by soaking everything it touched. Yet, his soaked clothes still provided a view of his stunning body, free of charge. 

Billy wanted to do more than just look, though. He wanted to feel and let his hands wander. They cupped your ass and moved up to the hem of your pants, coming down with a single tug to reveal something you would never have thought he would take an interest in. There was a window above you that reflected the events taking place thanks to the light you turned on earlier. You could see Billy backing himself up, and you could feel his hands take a fistful of either mound of your ass before he softly tugged them away from each other. 

His throat vibrated, and a wad of spit fell from his pursed lips, landing on your hole. One of his thumbs toyed with it for a moment, slicking your crack before he buried his damp face inside and let his warm, wet tongue do most of the work. His breath rolled along your lower back as he felt the intensity of it. He followed a cycle of licking your crevasse with a broad stroke, carefully dancing the tip of his tongue around your hole for an extra tease as he would stop, pull away, spit on it and return. A finger would find its way inside you during the process. It was usually one with a ring on it that stretched and loosened your hole. But he used his mouth for most of the dirty work. Every time his soft lips connected to you in some way, you urged to press back against it, against him.

Eventually, Billy grew rough, and his pace became too quick. It was evident that he needed some kind of relief, so he pulled away to fumble with the flap of his jeans. First, the button came undone, then you heard the slow descending zipper of his fly. You didn't need to glance at the reflection to know what he was packing--you had eyed it earlier in the dark, the thing drawing attention to itself like a lone flare.

A hand ran over your back until one hooked over your shoulder, and the other guided his cock. Billy wasn't entirely going in dry, but the work he had done to prepare you would make the pain a little easier to handle. The tip was the easiest part to take, his girth being the hardest to endure as it felt as thick as the beer cans he used to guzzle down in high school. But once he bottomed out, coasting his entire length inside you, it felt like the first half of a marathon. As he started to rock his hips, the sheer force behind it and eagerness to reach his climax became the apparent problem. 

Billy was rough. His toned thighs flexed and worked with each thrust on his knees. Each hip-smacking push into you made it harder for Billy to resist flooding your ass in his release. He grunted and made animalistic noises, far from the composed manner he presented himself in. Loud smacks filled the car and echoed out into the silent backwoods before he finally gave into it and on an unexpected thrust, shot spurts of hot white dickspit in your ass. His thrusts turned languid as he finished inside you. You felt him bear his weight on you, his damp chest finally meeting your dry back. He kept at his thrusts, but they were weaker and driven by less force.

After a few moments of silence and incoherent mumblings, Billy pulled out, tucked himself away, and backed out of your car. "Goddamn, been waiting for a good slut to dump one in. Small towns aren't easy to find people willing to do this."

"You're not going to help me out?" You asked as you felt his presence grow distant. 

Billy rode the wave of his ego-filled high, "Fixing your car was helping you. Come back for a full inspection, though, we can talk about it then."

#request #stranger things #billy hargrove x male reader #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x m!reader #billy hargrove x male!reader #mechanic!billy hargrove #mechanic!billy hargrove x male!reader #mechanic!billy hargrove x male reader #mechanic!billy hargrove x reader #dacre montgomery x reader #dacre montgomery x male!reader #dacre montgomery x male reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things x male reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things smut

[gardensgatekeeper]

A Christmas Wish

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader

Word Count: 942

Warnings: None, just fluff!

Inspired by Daniella Monet's engagement video :')

After putting the final ornament on the tree, you stepped back to admire the warm twinkling lights and gold tinsel covering the 7-foot fir tree that was just a bit large in your apartment. The sound of a classic Christmas vinyl filled the air as you quietly hummed along. Sneaking up from behind, Jake wrapped his arms around you while admiring the fully decorated tree.

“It looks absolutely perfect.” He approved. You smiled and let out a content sigh. Christmas was arguably your favorite time of year. I mean, who doesn’t love sitting by the fireplace with a cup of hot chocolate, listening to Christmas music on repeat, and watching the joy on people’s faces as they exchange gifts? Nothing could top all the magical feelings during the holiday season, but being with Jake sure did come pretty close.

Though a bit controversial, you were the type to start decorating the day after Thanksgiving, something Jake quickly had to accept because he knew how happy it made you. Even so, he never complained or got upset when you accidentally scratched his Bronco last year in the process of strapping a tree down to the roof.

Turning around, you just couldn’t help but smile up in admiration at him. “What is it? He asked with a twinkle in his eyes. “I just love you so much. You make me so happy Jake.” You hum. He just grinned before planting a soft kiss to your lips. “I love you too.” He smiled as he pulled away far too soon. “Now, why don’t you come help me with these cookies before I burn your apartment down.” he chuckles. Rolling your eyes, you make your way towards the kitchen seeing the mess he had caused.

“Jake! What happened in here?” You laughed, every so slightly stressed at the state of your countertops. “I just followed the instructions! You know I can barely operate the stove, let alone make cookies from scratch.” He shrugged. Shaking your head, you chuckled before grabbing an apron. “Babe you’re overthinking it. Why don't you go finish putting out some of the decorations. I'll handle the rest from here." You said, practically shooing him out of the kitchen.

---

Ding!

The smell of warm vanilla and sugar filled the apartment as soon as you opened the stove to check on the cookies. Seeing that they were baked to perfection, you sat them on the counter to cool.

“Are the cookies ready to be decorated?” Jake asked from the living room with a curious smirk. “They will be in a few minutes! Just need to cool down a bit first. You wanna help me with the icing?” He nodded and made his way to the kitchen.

Once all of the different colors of icing were ready, you split the cookies evenly between you and Jake to decorate. You meticulously decorated each cookie with various holiday-related designs, not paying any attention to whatever sloppy, child-like designs Jake would ultimately create. Though, you were a bit worried when he wasn’t his normal chatty self.

“How’s it going over there?” You ask, finishing up your last cookie. “Just finished. Close your eyes, I wanna surprise you.” He replied back.

“Jake, please tell me you didn’t draw a dick on all the cookies again.” You question as he covers your eyes with his hands. "Don't worry, not this time." He chuckles nervously and guides you over to where he previously stood. His hands retreated after a moment and you were given the okay to look.

Opening your eyes, you glanced down at the tray of cookies in front of you. Letting out an audible gasp, your hands quickly flew up to your mouth in utter shock when you saw the words written on the cookies. Marry Me?

In complete shock, tears flowed down your face, completely unable to move or speak. “Do you see what it says?” You hear Jake whisper from behind you. Still processing the words you were reading, you could only nod in response. “Do you wanna turn around?” he lightly chuckled. Trying to wipe your tears, you finally mustered up the courage to face him. The sight was something you would treasure forever.

“Jake-“ you breathed. Propped on one knee, Jake was there holding a small red velvet box that held the most beautiful ring you’d ever seen. You were practically ugly crying at this point when you noticed his watery eyes, struggling to keep a cool composure.

“From the moment I met you, I knew you were something special and it didn’t take me long to realize that I wanted you to be my forever crazy Christmas-loving angel. You bring out the very best in me and I can’t imagine another day without you by my side. I love you so damn much Y/N. Will you marry me?”

Sobbing uncontrollably at this point, you wrapped your arms around him and cried into his shoulder. “So, is that a yes?” He asked nervously. “Jake oh my god, yes! Yes! Yes a thousand times!”

With the biggest grin, he gently grabbed your hand and slipped the ring on your finger. You looked up at him, your vision still a little blurry from the tears. Grabbing his face, you kissed him until you absolutely had to pull away to breathe. He smiled down at you as if he had just won the lottery. At least that's how it felt for you. “I love you so so so much Jake.” You breathed out, still processing what just happened. “I love you so much. I can’t wait until I get to call you Mrs. Kiszka.” He smirked.

#greta #greta van fic #gvf #gvf imagine #gretavanfleet #greta van fleet #jakekiszka #jake gvf #jake kiszka #gvf jake #jacob thomas kiszka #jake kiszka x you #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka gvf #jake kiska fic #jake kiszka x y/n #gardensgatekeeper

[azulera]

Hello TikTok

Pairing: Marcus Rashford x Black Reader

Summary: Marcus joins TikTok, and you share your thoughts on his first post.

Notes: I wrote this a while ago and it was inspired by the first vid he posted on tiktok which I laughed at for days. He is such a dork (I'm in l*ve with him)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sudden notification to your phone was unexpected, not because of the app it came from, but because Marcus’ name was attached to it. Settling deeper into the corner of the couch, you opened the link to the TikTok video and let it play.

The background was dark, and the footage was slightly grainy, but clearly showed Marcus in a black hoodie, kicking about in a nondescript patch of grass. There was a row of streetlamps behind him, but no eye-catching edits, background music or even TikTok sounds underlying the recording, only the rubbery whack of the ball against his trainers as he bounced it off them and up in the air. After a few moments, the ball flew from his feet and clattered into the camera.

“Yes, everyone— Marcus Rashford, here.” He suddenly spoke, the phone now in his hand and the camera focused on his face. The cheery, formal tone of his voice mismatched with the dark setting.

“And I am on TikTok.”

The video slowed to a stop with his face still in the frame, and the abrupt ending forced a burst of laughter through your lips. Was that all?

You played the video once more, raising the volume and screen brightness to make sure you’d seen and heard everything. The kick-ups could have been anyone’s suggestion, you thought on the second viewing, but the less-than-perfect lighting and straightforward script had your boyfriend written all over it. Still, you had many, many questions.

“Marcus, when did you post this?”

“Post what?”

He walked in the living room from the kitchen with a protein bar in hand, before plopping down onto the couch. He stretched his long frame out over yours, fitting the curve of your hip into his hand.

“This,” You said, flipping your phone screen for him to see his own face reflected back at him. He smiled softly.

“Oh, the TikTok? Just a minute ago. Go on and like it, though, repost it.” He grabbed for your phone, but you pulled it away, watching the video over again. On the screen, and in real life, you could see how proud he was of his creation.

“And you came up with the idea, then? Knocking the phone over with the ball?”

“Well, yeah. Why?”

“I’m just curious. It’s …” You bit down on your lip. The audio of the video continued playing from your phone in a loop. “You didn’t want to run it by anyone first? Even just me, or like, one of your video editing people?”

His eyebrows furrowed.

“What do you mean? I did run it by my team and them first, before I posted it.”

“And what did they say?”

“They thought it was cool. And funny, like. Wait - why’re you laughin?”

Your body shook lightly where Marcus held it, and you covered your mouth to spare his feelings, and mute the sound. He lifted his head up from your chest, unsure that the two of you were laughing for the same reasons.

“It is cool, innit? Don’t you think it’s cool?”

Words were impossible for a few moments, with your shoulders still vibrating with giggles and breath all but gone.

“You couldn’t have added a song at least?” You asked when air returned to your lungs. “Or some kind of audio, it’s dead silent in the back. And why did you end it like that? You could’ve done an outro or something.”

“But it didn’t need all of that, did it? It were supposed to be a short little thing—“

“Also what is ‘Yes, everyone?’” You continued. Marcus huffed and tried to leave the couch, but you held him close, still laughing as you did. “What are you saying yes to? And the camera angle is giving me uncle, grandpa energy, I can’t even–”

“Okay, okay! Low it.” Marcus sucked his teeth and set his jaw, raising on his forearms above you. “S’not that funny. I mean, it is but, not how you mean. I still rate it. It’s cool.”

He spoke like he meant to convince himself. You stared up at him for a minute, taking in the small rut creasing his forehead, and the near pout on his lips. The video was hilarious, there was no point denying it, but it was so innocent, earnest and slightly dorky – all things you loved about him – and he really was so pleased with his work. Even if your abdomen cramped from laughing, you would never have him change.

“You know what, baby? You’re right. The video is cool.” You pushed your face into his shoulder to try and quell the amusement still threatening to bubble over. “You are so cool. And so funny. Super cool and funny. ”

“Plus, it’s harder than it looks, you know. Aiming the ball like that.” He let his head fall back down to your chest. “And I did it one try.”

“Shhh, I know it is, I know. You are so talented. Come here.” He turned his head away from the half-laugh, half-kisses you attempted to press against his neck, but it only made you try harder.

“It’ll be viral by tomorrow.” He finally grumbled, tossing your phone onto the coffee table and allowing himself to be kissed. Soon he spread his arms to resume the previous cuddle. “You’ll see.”

#marcus rashford x oc #marcus rashford x you #marcus rashford x reader #marcus rashford fanfiction #football fanfic #football imagine #footballer x you #footballer x reader

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Hey, Little Songbird

Chapter 33 - AO3

Ten minutes.

Ten minutes of keeping Rossi pinned to the ground while she hissed and spat at him, struggling against the superior strength of the Peacock Miraculous. Ten minutes of kneeling on her torso, unable but not incapable of fighting while King Monkey and Chat Noir picked off the rest of their akumatized classmates. Ten minutes of waiting, Rossi’s connection to Hawkmoth flashing for a few moments before extinguishing.

It was the longest ten minutes of Argus’ life.

The doors of the gym slammed open. Argus couldn’t spare a glance, but multiple people ran into the room, one coming up right behind him. He braced himself. “Oh thank god.”

“Ma—” Argus turned his head to look, but instead of who he was expecting, it was Ladybug behind him. Several police officers had arrived with her. “Ladybug. Did everything go well?”

She nodded, smiling. “Both Hawkmoth and Mayura were arrested and no one was hurt. And now—” She walked around him, so Rossi could see here. “It’s your turn, Lila Rossi. Are you going to surrender the akuma?”

“Never!” She snapped, spit foaming in her mouth. Argus wrinkled his nose.

“Hard way it is, then.” She glanced at Argus. “Do you know where her akumatized object is?”

“No idea. Everything about her is so ugly, it could be anything.”

Rossi hissed at him, trying to bit his arm. He slammed her head back into the floor, cracks radiating out on the wood under her.

Ladybug appraised the akuma. “There really is room for taste. But when Rossi was akumatized previously, the object was…” Reaching down, Ladybug plucked a necklace off Rossi’s neck. He hadn’t noticed it before due to the ugly prom queen aesthetic, but a dainty, tasteful necklace had been there the whole time, hidden in the ruffles of the bust. Ladybug snapped the necklace in half, and a black butterfly flew out. “This.”

Quickly catching the akuma, a loveliness of ladybugs washed over the gym and into the world outside. Damage from the battle healed, cracks fading and shrinking. His classmates transformed back into their normal selves, dazed and confused. Rossi, too, transformed back to normal, with none of the confusion previous akuma victims had. Instead, she continued to glare up at Argus and Ladybug, hands balled into fists (thumbs tucked under her fingers like she’d never learned to punch before, and the sadistic part of Felix really wanted her to try).

Ladybug helped Felix to his feet. His knees cracked from kneeling for so long. “Your costume looks good on you,” Ladybug said suddenly. He blinked at her and she flushed. “It’s… You kept the hoodie look. It suits you.”

What?

What??

Before Felix could truly question whatever that was, Rossi crawled to her feet. Her face had smoothed into false gratitude, a simpering smile trying to placate her audience. “Oh, Ladybug! Thank you so much for saving me—”

Ladybug stepped aside for the two policemen, who hauled her to her feet. She complained about the rough, only to scream when handcuffs clicked around her wrists. “Lila Rossi, you are under arrest for terrorism against the citizens of Paris. Everything you say can and will—”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Rossi sputtered, trying to pull her other wrist free before it was locked behind her back. “I was an akuma, I can’t be held responsible for helping Hawkmoth! If I need to be arrested, so do they!” Unable to gesture with her hand, she kicked in the direction of dreadlock girl, goth girl, and boy with a skull on his shirt. They looked horrified at the prospect.

He really, really needed to learn his classmates’ names.

The police officers didn’t look inclined to answer, but Argus was ecstatic to inform Rossi of what was going on. He was a hero, at least for the day; he couldn’t let someone walk away ignorant after all! “So, that wasn’t you in the video I took? The video where you can clearly see someone who looks exactly like you snatches an akuma out of the air and negotiates with Hawkmoth for better powers?” He looks back at Ladybug, who was giving him a look. “Oh dear, we ought to go out and search for this mysterious doppelganger then. But… the doppelganger theory doesn’t explain the mountain of other evidence for more crimes we found on you. Whoops.”

“You—” She lunged for Argus, but the officers hold her back. “You ruined my life!” She spat.

Chat Noir approached, crossing his arms, and glaring at the girl. “Ironic, coming from End Days herself.”

Argus snorted. “I know, right?”

Rossi was dragged away by the bobbies, screaming at the top of her lungs about diplomatic immunity and that she’d been framed. Argus rolled his eyes. Turning back to the heroes, he flinched, finding Chat Noir staring at him with an unidentifiable expression. After a few seconds, the hero spoke. “I don’t like you.”

“Chat—”

Argus cocked an eyebrow. “And why should I care?”

Chat Noir glared. “But, you did good in your first fight against an akuma. And hopefully, your last.”

“That was hardly my first fight against an akuma, remember?”

He stepped into Argus’ personal space, staring him down. Argus stopped breathing. “I won’t forget.” He stepped away. “But I guess you were lucky enough to find some people willing to tolerate you. That’s probably the reason why you’re not a loser anymore.”

“Chat Noir!” Ladybug stood in between the two, glaring at her partner. “There was no reason to say that to Argus! He’s the only reason we were able to defeat Hawkmoth!”

Chat Noir’s face darkened, and he looked away. “Yeah.” Like it was planned, Chat Noir’s Miraculous beeped, though the Ladybug and Peacock stayed silent. Ladybug must have recharged on her way over, and Argus never used his ability in battle—Duusu hadn’t even explained how, claiming that it was dangerous—so he was the only one who had to leave or risk his identity. Ladybug offered him a fist bump before he left, and Chat looked like he was about to cry. “Meet me in the usual place? Tonight, at ten?”

“Of course, Chaton. Take all the time you need.”

The black cat hero raced away to parts unknown after whatever that was (although, the dark part of Felix’s mind already had a suspicion he really didn’t like). That left Ladybug alone with the three temporary heroes, along with the three victims. She cleared her throat. “Thank you, everyone. With your help, we managed to finally arrest Hawkmoth—”

“So, who was it?” Chloe asked.

“You find that out tomorrow, with the rest of Paris. I believe a press conference is already in the works for the morning” Ladybug didn’t seem to care about the interruption, used to how Chloe acted. “I need to collect your Miraculous now, but Queen Bee, Argus, since you both have public identities…”

“You want ours back first before collecting the others,” Argus finished, snatching the Bee Miraculous out of Chloe’s hair. She yelped as she detransformed, and Argus tossed the hair comb to Ladybug. There was no sign of a kwami; did that happen when the Miraculous was removed without the transformation phrase? If so…

“Why you do that!?” Chloe screeched at him.

“Don’t act like you were going to return it willingly,” Argus spat back.

King Monkey agreed. “Yeah, you were probably planning to crash another train to impress mommy dearest.” He held out a fist to Argus, and the Peacock hero reluctantly tapped it.

Ripping the brooch off his chest, Argus turned back into Felix and he tossed it at Ladybug. She fumbled, bouncing the jewelry off her arms and chest before clutching it in a move so familiar it was burned into his retinas. “You don’t want to say goodbye to your kwami?” she asked.

Felix snorted. “If I never had to see that hyperactive monster ever again, it would be too soon. Keep the horrible thing.”

Ladybug nodded, gesturing for King Monkey to leave with her. She looked back at him over her shoulder. “I’ll see you soon.”

Felix nodded. And it would be soon.

As in, the next day of class, soon. They sat next to each other, after all.

Taglist: @graduatedmelon @novicevoice@dur55@kris-pines04@18-fandoms-unite-08@moonlightstar64@bee-a-garbage-shipper@sol-o-shade@kittyotakunoir666@tinyterror333@allieoftheenemy@marichat00@xgxmxtx@two-faced-biatch@feliciakainzofspades@evil-cricket@emilytopaz@spicybelladonna@chocolateherringtacofan@user00000003@wannajointhecrabcult@happymonster-pants @duquesapincarrasca  @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen  @sxltinette @kittydemon9000 @thetrashypanda423 @unoriginalmessess @toodaloo-kangaroo @troycattribunny @nikipuppeteer

#felix: wait how do you know i was wearing a hoodie earlier- oh #felinette #ml salt #lila salt #lila rossi's lies are exposed #mlb #miraculous ladybug #felix graham de vanily #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #lila rossi #chloe bourgeois #hey little songbird #should i unblock anon comments after the last chapter? #give lila anon a chance to b!tch and moan like usual? #peacock felix

[youwouldntlietopapa]

Could you please do “The hug where they come running at you, jumping into your outstretched arms, making you stumble backward a little at the added weight of their body pressing against yours. No matter though, because you’re both laughing, arms only tightening around each other.” with a female reader and Papa Copia! Thanks!

I'm so sorry, I couldn't get this mental image out of my head. And now this exists. Enjoy!

___________________________________________________________

Anyone who has ever watched a full grown man make a split second, extremely questionable decision only to realise his mistake too far into committing to it will know exactly the look on Copia’s face as he flew through the air. (Okay, flew might be a bit of an overstatement, but still…) But I’ve gotten ahead of myself…

The show itself had gone about as well as anyone could have hoped. No technical disasters, no weather problems, Swiss hadn’t fallen off his platform or set his guitar on fire, and Copia was in fine form. For a band who’s performance mode typically left them all sharing a single brain cell, it was damned fun to watch. And, thank the dark lord, you actually got to see it in person.

It wasn’t always possible to come along on tour, but this time was lucky. It was chaos, it was exhausting, it was frustrating, and it was also more fun than anything else in the world. Besides, not being stuck back at the Abbey, counting down the days for them to return and spending evenings on video calls, trying to be grateful for even that would always be preferable.

The fact that Copia always walked off stage absolutely desperate to drag you back to the bus to unwind didn’t hurt either. At least, not in a way that you didn’t enjoy immensely.

When the last chords of the last song played and the screaming crowd became one final wave of noise and devotion, you waited well off to the side. Out of the way. Beaming so hard your cheeks ached. If it was possible to be more proud of anyone, you were sure that it couldn’t be much more. The day had been hot and sticky, but the night had gotten blessedly cool and a breeze made everything feel like it would be all right. All you could think about was the small bus shower and the bed waiting for you both.

Copia walks off stage after the final bows, still in business mode, talking with the ghouls. They always need a few minutes. Going over everything, discussing any issues, checking in with the backstage team. And you wait patiently. Once he sheds the frontman mask, you’ll have your Copia all to yourself.

Watching them all together is entertainment enough as it is. Swiss is already stuffing whatever junk food he get his hands on into his mouth. The ghoul is always famished after a show and it’s let him eat or deal with a hangry boy. Everyone has agreed letting him eat is easier. Dew is smoking away. Literally. Smoke rising off him and drifting off on the breeze. It will dissipate once he unwinds. Phantom stands quietly aside, hands folded in front of himself, tail twitching, just waiting to be released to go run circles around the tour bus to burn off the adrenaline. And the rest are either chattering away or half listening while more engaged in their own post-show rituals.

When Copia waves them off, they scatter quickly. Too many things to do, too much trouble to get into. They’ll be back on the bus before it leaves, but until then, you’re quite happy to not worry about it. Because the man you’re really most interested in takes a deep breath, shakes off the stress and the worry, allowing himself to really bask in the glow of a great ritual and the adoration of the crowd. The void where the tension he’d been holding is filled immediately with the need for you. The desperate, frantic, all consuming need that grinding on a mic stand will never satisfy. His eyes scan the backstage until he spots you.

“Amore!” He calls. There’s a hunger in his eyes and every stagehand who’s been around any length of time instinctively moves out of the path between him and you.

He doesn’t walk over. He doesn’t pause to chitchat along the way. Copia runs for you. Somewhere between spotting you, and reaching you, however, some very dubious decision making takes place. You’re not sure when exactly, but you can say for certain when it is that he realises it’s a bad idea.

Around the same time you realise what it is, exactly, that he’s doing.

And definitely after it’s too late to change his course of action.

Your arms are held out for him, expecting an absolutely rib crushing hug. But you watch, rather helplessly as he twists his torso with the last few steps, leaps off the ground, throwing himself directly at you. Like having Satan’s own golden disco ball hurled at you without warning.

“Copia!” You cry uselessly. Objects in motion being what they are and all. The hug you were expecting rapidly becomes the catch you were unprepared for.

You stumble backward, trying with everything you’ve got to avoid both knocking over anything expensive and dropping your most precious treasure. A feat that would be, admittedly, made a little easier if you hadn’t had the air knocked out of your lungs. But beggars can’t be choosers. And, by some miracle, you find yourself still standing, holding a very surprised Copia, bridal style.

“Amore! I… I don’t know what came over me! Forgive me!” He looks at you like you’ve just grown a second head, looking from your face to your arms holding him up (a little shakily, but all the same) and back again. Finally breaking into a delighted laugh. “Why didn’t you tell me you are so strong???”

You wheeze a soft laugh, feeling your legs shaking a bit. “Copia… my love… don’t take this the wrong way… but you weigh a fucking ton. I’m going to set you down, all right?”

“Of course! Of course!” He lands on his feet in front of you when you drop his legs, and he wraps you in a tight hug. “You are so strong, angelo mio. Mmmm… I like that. Will you show me more? In private?” His teeth tease your neck and his hands wander.

“I think I can manage that.” You giggle and he scoops you up, the same way you’d been holding him. No need to ask where he’s taking you. There’s only one place it could be. Your arms circle his neck and you press yourself tightly against him.

Copia grins cheekily all the way back to the bus, leaning in close as you near the door. “Did you see me on stage tonight? I’m afraid I was very naughty.”

You smile a little wider, biting at his earlobe. “I did see. I was getting a bit jealous of the mic stand.”

If the sound he makes is any indication, the new crotch corset trousers are certainly making themselves worth every penny paid for them.

“I only hope that my Principessa guerriera won’t punish me too terribly.”

#ghost fanfic #ask prompts #papa iv x reader #copia x fem!reader #ghoulies being ghoulies #MDNI

[writinginfinite]

imagine part viii

imagine: form a mental image or a concept

plot: you didn’t know what you were getting into when you turned your hobby into an actual career on f1. based on Lewis’ “imagine” tweet.

Saturday May 7, 2022

"again"

All you wanted was to wake up believing yesterday was a nightmare that you couldn’t escape the grasp of. When you finally decided to check your phone, you were reminded that it wasn’t a nightmare but a reality. The numerous missed calls and texts only added to your stress because you hated others worrying about you. All the text read about the same “Are you okay?” “Please explain what happened?” “What’s going on?”  Thousands of thoughts ran through your mind reading the same messages repeatedly. There was nothing for you to explain, though. The video told it all; you couldn’t comprehend why people needed further context. If that weren’t enough, nothing you ever did would.

You scrolled through the countless missed calls and texts of those worried about you. It was time to face the music and calm the nerves of others, even if yours were through the roof. You didn’t have any energy to return phone calls because if the video weren't enough to even the ones who cared for you, nothing would do. You sat in a chair for minutes typing up a text that would be short but reassuring. You shook your head in frustration after typing up a lie. You could only hope that a lie would get everyone off your back. Almost instantly, replies were coming in. It was overwhelming, so you turned your phone on Do Not Disturb until you felt ready to talk again. 

//

The walk through the Paddock was tense. You didn’t know if it was all in your head or if the feeling of people staring at you was happening. What caught you most by surprise were the looks from team members. You looked around, hoping to see a famous figure or just anything other than you that people were looking at. To your disappointment, there was not, only you and a few other people walking around, and they were also glancing at you. That trek toward the media center felt like hundreds of miles. "This is going to be a long weekend " was all you could think while heading towards the media center. 

You could feel a sudden shift in the room as you walked in to find a seat. You couldn't tell if you imagined it, but it seemed as if everyone was further away from you than usual. And as you found your seat, it only felt worse. All the reporters’ reactions didn't surprise you; you knew the second you sent out that tweet, the dynamics would split even further. If their goal was to get under your skin, they were starting to succeed. You had to try and put it behind you because you had a job, just like everyone in that room.

//

Qualifying flew by, and the only shocking outcome from qualifying was the order of the top three; you expected it to be in reverse. If you could ever get to it, that was something you planned on highlighting in your post-qualifying article. Being overwhelmed affected your work. Pieces were now on the backlog, which wasn’t normal for you, and you hoped no one would notice. You watched Charles, Carlos, and Max enter the media center for their post-race qualifying interviews, but you could not care less now. You had no questions for them because you knew they’d give the same generic responses.

Get asked about Red Bull (even after qualifying first), have to praise them, then talk about your team. “They are extremely quick in straight lines. We are quick in the corners, and it will be a tight challenge tomorrow. And hopefully, we'll come back on top.” Or Carlos being asked if he’d finish behind his teammate because he’s ahead in the championship and has to say nonsense to avoid making a cheap headline. “No, the consideration is that we are teammates and that we want to score a one-two for the team independently of who is ahead or behind.” It was the same energy, just in a different country. You used that time to write about practices two and three.

You were about to publish practice two and three articles when your wrist vibrated. You looked at your watch to see Ashlyn had been calling you for the third time. You were so zoned out that you missed the first two calls. Friends and family knew not to contact you during press conferences, so you automatically assumed the worst. You quickly stood up and began heading to the nearest exit until a microphone was in your face. You hadn't realized there was a final call for questions, and your standing up made them believe you had one more. "Oh, sorry, I have nothing to ask. I have to take an important call," you apologized for the confusion. 

"You hadn't looked up once since the drivers walked in. Can't wait to see what was so important," someone roared, causing the room to erupt in laughter. The words stopped you in your tracks. You looked around the room and found the person who made the statement. There were so many things you wanted to say but chose against giving them a reaction. 

You just shook your head and turned to walk away, not before catching the puzzled looks of Charles and Carlos

//

You called Ashlyn back, worried something was wrong back home. “Are you alright? You’ve been behind on your work, and that’s not like you,” Ashlyn said after the first ring. Of course, she noticed, you thought. You explained the situation to her, and she did nothing but listen. Hours had passed in your mind, but your phone only showed two minutes on the call. "It will get better with time," Ashlyn tried reassuring you. "I am thinking so, too. Thank you for letting me vent again. I owe you. Tell everyone I love them. You too, of course. Bye."  

"Wait, before you hang up, let me say one more thing," Ashlyn said quickly before you could end the call. You had a feeling where this conversation would be going. 

"Yeah, go ahead," you said sheepishly.

"I only want what's best for you. Have you thought about taking a break or leaving? We miss you back home. May be right now, you're not cut out for this. I think this life is taking a toll on you. I see it, and strangers online notice the treatment. I love -"

You hastily cut Ashlyn off before she could finish. "Take a break? Not cut out for this? Do you know how hard I worked for this? If you truly knew what was best for me, you wouldn't try me talk me out of what I am doing. I can't believe you right now." 

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. I'm sorry; please hear me out," Ashlyn pleaded on the other end. 

"Oh no, I heard you- loud and clear at that. There's no need to apologize. I listened to how you felt, so now it's your turn." You said it in the coldest tone. A voice that was unrecognizable to Ashlyn.

"I put in twice the work than anyone in that room with me. It's easy to ignore when it's strangers online or people who, from day one, have a vendetta against you. I will not allow you or anyone else to discredit my craft. But from you, I would have never thought. Have a nice life, Ashlyn. Goodbye," were the final words you said to your once best friend before the call ended. You didn't even give her time to backpedal. 

You were indeed on your own. Not only did those in the media room not believe in you, but you now knew your best friend didn't either. It was as if things kept falling as the hours went by.

//

It took you some time to collect yourself after that call. "Did I lose my best friend?" ran through your mind as you headed back to your seat. You were grateful everyone was heading out to the media pits to get a sport before post-qualifying interviews began. You had about 10 minutes of quiet, something you desperately needed.

At that moment, you finally decided it was time to check Twitter. To finally see the aftermath of yesterday. Nothing in your mentions honestly shocked you; people love drama at the expense of others' feelings. Of course, you gained many followers, some verified news personalities who previously would never give you the time of day. You opted to check your direct messages, something you rarely did, to see if people came out of the woodwork trying to talk to you. To the surprise of no one, there had been. It reminded you it was time to do the following cleanse once things calmed down. There was one name that stuck out to you: Lewis Hamilton.

"What the hell? We both have to be following each other for you to send me a direct message," you mumbled to yourself when you opened the message. You had to make sure it was him, so you clicked on the account. It was Lewis, with his profile saying Follows you. Your head started spinning when you looked at the message. He wrote, "I know this is unexpected, but I felt the need to reach out. I've seen the video and noticed your treatment in the media. I want to check in when you have a moment. Take care of yourself, okay?"

You couldn't believe what you read. Was Lewis making time to speak with me? Was the busiest man on the Paddock is checking in on me? But it wasn't just that direct message from Lewis Hamilton; it was someone finally asking, "how were you doing?" Everyone knew how kind of person Lewis was. His constant messages of reassurance and hope he gave others shouldn't shock you, but "why me?" is all you could think of. You were typing a reply before seeing the time. You had about less than five minutes before the pit interviews started.

//

You stood in the media pits going through the motions. Every driver that passed meant one step closer to leaving this Paddock. You were trying your hardest to look interested and engaged, but you didn't even have the energy to ask a single question. That all changed when the final driver arrived, Lewis. He knew of yesterday's ordeal, and his tone of answering questions made everyone painfully aware.

Listening to them stumble over their questions to not rock the boat brought you a little enjoyment. Even for a few minutes, they got to experience the pressure you had been battling for months. You let out a light chuckle that no one seemed to notice.

The questioning went quickly, per usual, but this time it was different. You could tell others had questions, but the guilt ate at them. Lewis' team PR person looked around the circle and asked for final questions.

“I have a question,” Lewis said. His words caused stunned looks from his PR person and media members; it was out of the ordinary. Lewis said your name, making everyone turn to face you immediately. Your heart rate rose when Lewis said, “What are you back there smirking about? Did I say something funny?” in a joking voice while raising an eyebrow.

Attention being drawn your way caught you off guard and you couldn’t think of a verbal response. So you tilted your head a bit and gave Lewis that look that people like you two universally understood. Your face reads, “You know these people are uncomfortable, right?” You watched Lewis quickly nod, “yes.” He was aware of what he had been doing the whole time.

“I’m just joking. I hope you’re well,” Lewis said in a now calm voice. The tension in the air eased for everyone else, but that fog formed again for you. “I am, Lewis. Thank you for asking again.” A glimmer in Lewis’ eyes and a slight smirk appeared after you said, “again.” Your response reassured him you had seen his direct message. “You take care of yourself, okay.” Unlike the direct message, Lewis wasn’t asking a question but telling you. His tone was that of someone who cared and would be on the lookout for you. You looked him in the eyes, nodded your head hesitantly, then watched as he walked away. You knew he didn’t believe you, and he was right.

Once he was out of view, you headed back to the media center. A nagging feeling you couldn't shake told you to turn around, and when you did, it was to everyone watching you, murmuring something you couldn't make out. You tried replaying the last few minutes, wondering what you said that could be spun. “Damn it,” you said to yourself, realizing where you made a terrible mistake.

//

You were about to open the door to the media center but couldn’t face them yet. You could only pray you were overthinking the situation and it would disappear. So you decided against entering and took a walk around the track, something you hadn’t done at previous races. Miami Grand Prix was beautiful, as you saw the sun beaming on the fake marinas. You had missed that electric feeling of what being a fan brought. Not having to hold back your emotions during races because you could look biased. At this moment, you wished you could skip covering the rest of the race weekend to live in the moment, but you couldn't. Or so you thought it was. 

The longer you walked, the more your nerves mellowed. You would typically share your adventures with your followers via live videos, but you were trying to stay off social media. You were not feeling conflicted. Continue to avoid social media, neglect the interactions I built over the years, or suck it up and go live. The latter felt right because your audience didn’t deserve to be forgotten because of the actions of others. So you sent out a quick tweet: “Want to walk the Miami track with me? IG live in less than 2 minutes!” purposely leaving out your handle name. 

You did little talking on the live besides occasionally answering where you currently were on track. To your surprise, the comments were all going well, and you believed no one had noticed your mistake. The sun was setting, and you left your sunglasses, which became your sign to end your live. You were about to do a sign-off when you heard two voices excitedly calling your name. You turned around and greeted the two girls dressed in Mercedes hats and shirts. You did not know how to react because this was your first time being recognized. One girl showed you her phone; they were watching your live video. The interaction brought you a joy you couldn’t explain.

“Aww, this is a first. Do you guys want to say hi to people watching?” The two girls quickly waved and dropped their social media handles, which you had no problem with. Of course, the handles were creative names that incorporated Mercedes or Lewis. 

“I'm not beating these Mercedes allegations” ran through your mind but you didn't care in that moment. Two strangers being happy to meet you brought you so much joy. The girls asked for a photo, another first for you. Without hesitation, you agreed, placing your phone down and taking a few selfies. They were satisfied with the pictures and were about to walk away when one girl said, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” you nervously agreed, praying she wouldn’t ask what you were trying to avoid. “What did you mean about ‘again’ when Lewis asked if you were doing okay?” Your heart rate rose because of what you didn't want her to ask. She did. “It was nothing. Just check in on others, that’s all,” you stammered out, hoping it would be enough to please the question. The two girls could sense your discomfort and said, “I understand. I guess the internet was reaching. Thank you again; it was a pleasure to meet you. Take care of yourself,” the girl said as they both walked away.

You tried collecting yourself before remembering you were still live. You picked up your phone and said, “Sorry about that. I hope you guys enjoyed seeing the track. Until next time.” Before exiting the live, a comment caught your eye, “I was waiting for someone to ask about her saying again!"

//

All you wanted was a hot shower and to sleep; grabbing your belongings from the media room was the only thing stopping you. You didn’t have the energy to be bothered by anyone in the room. As you entered, no one seemed to notice you, so you could begin packing up without problems. It felt almost too good to be true… and it was. A woman who has never spoken to you tapped you on the shoulder. So you put on a fake smile and asked the woman, “Can I help you with anything?” The woman had a devious look.

“Can we sit down for a minute? I want to talk with you.” You nervously sat down with the woman, expecting some juvenile prank to happen. “First, how are you?” the woman asked, causing you to panic immediately. Something was up, but something told you to play along. “I am okay. Do you need anything from me? I am trying to head back to my hotel.” “I was just trying to get to know you and-”

“Bullshit, I’ve been here for months, and no one has attempted that. I’ll ask you one more time, what do you need?” You hastily cut the woman off. 

“Okay, few around here were wondering if you and Lewis had a thing. When we, I mean they, watched your interaction earlier and were curious. Especially with your response. I am sure you don’t and would love to put an end to it all. Everything is off of the record, by the way. Just between us two.” 

“Are you serious right now? Did you hear yourself? There’s no record.” You now spoke loudly for the whole room to hear. The woman was now shushing you to lower your voice but to no avail.

“I don’t appreciate you all trying to spin stories on me. Like everyone in this room, I have a job to do. There’s nothing for me to put an end to because there’s nothing there. I thought I left high school close to a decade ago.” You wanted to say much more but couldn't get the word out. You grabbed your bags and headed for the nearest exit. As you walked towards the gate, you knew a story would be written and had to get ahead.

You found a seat and began typing up what happened in your notes, fighting back the tears. 

“Let me get ahead of this before things spin. A few minutes ago, I planned on leaving the media center to head back to my hotel. A fellow reporter wanted to ask me a question. I knew something was up but hoped to be proven otherwise. This woman was polite at first until she felt the need to say everything I said would be off the record, but there was no record. The woman asked if I had some personal relationship in the Paddock, which isn’t true at all. Someone finally treated me like a human, and the reporters assumed something was up. They are trying to create more false narratives. I know I’ll type all of this; still, people will believe what they want, and I have to accept that. Treating people with kindness is all I ask.”

“I am aware of the games being played. I am here to do a job and want the same respect I give everyone else, but I don’t believe I’ll ever see it,” you tweeted with screenshots of what you just typed. You debated on turning off the replies but left them on. You had nothing to hide and wanted to let people show their true colors.

“Whatever happens, happens,” you told yourself. 

//

It was close to one in the morning, but you couldn’t stop scrolling through your mentions. Your image was being tarnished hour by hour. So you locked your phone and relived the last few days in your head. You wanted to blame someone, but you didn't know who. "Maybe this wouldn't have happened if I had followed the norm. I wouldn't be in this situation if I had kept my mouth shut on day one. What if Lewis never spoke to me?" “Lewis,” you remembered you never responded to any of his messages. You grabbed your phone off the nightstand and went to your direct messages. He had sent a second message just minutes ago.

You typed and deleted so many responses because nothing felt right. You didn’t want to appear emotional or fragile, telling Lewis how much his words meant. You didn’t want to make him feel guilty for being his genuine self. Yes, he’s human, but he’s still a highly profiled figure in F1, a sport you loved. He raced in the morning; the last thing you wanted was for Lewis Hamilton to be worried while driving 220KPH. 

You debated not responding as you’ve done to so many others, but he deserved a response this time. 

“No, I should thank you. I cannot convey how much I appreciate you for asking. It means more than you’ll ever know right now. I realize I cannot control how people try to spin an encounter. Whatever happens, happens. Please don’t worry about me, Lewis. Have a nice night ... well, morning. Also, don’t you have a race to prepare for tomorrow afternoon?"

You knew Lewis meant well, but it did not prepare you for what was coming your way.

// parts

author's notes: have to proofread this again. sorry i took forever, forgive me!

word count: 3.7K

#lewis hamilton x black reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton fanfiction #fanfic #lewis hamilton imagines #lewis hamilton fanfictions #fanfics #imagine by writinginfinte

[circusmania]

SIN Chapter 5

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A heavy blanket draped over my shoulder. I couldn't hear the police sirens anymore.

The police ruled it as a suicide after checking the camera feed and seeing her… yeah…

I don't believe it was a suicide.

Vanessa and Omar were being questioned by the police like I was. 

All their questions flew into one ear and out the other. I couldn't think about anything. 

I couldn't register her death.

Suddenly, Marcus sat next to me. 

Why can't he just let me be?

I didn't have the energy to chase him away. 

“How did you know?” I asked, still staring at the ground.

“How did I know what?”

I gritted my teeth before snatching the collar of his shirt.

“Don't play dumb with me! How did you know it was too late!?”

He reached for my hands and slowly brought them down. And then…

He gave me a sympathetic look. 

I could feel tears starting to form. Marcus let go of my hands and faced the ground. I did too.

Marcus's hand came to my shoulder, but I moved away.

God, I wish I could reverse time.

All of a sudden, Judy's body was carried out of the school on a stretcher and into an ambulance. 

Time slowed as I saw the outline of her body underneath the heavy blanket. 

A feeling of déjà vu consumed me.

My eye couldn't produce any more tears, I felt so hopeless. 

Marcus hugged me tightly, and I didn't protest anymore.

“Who could've done this? Who… who could've drugged her?”

Marcus stayed silent.

My eyes blurred and went blank a few times. Who could've had this much hatred for her?

Vanessa and Omar came back. They both looked dazed and tired.

“I still can't believe Judy's gone.” Vanessa's voice broke. Omar patted her on the back and looked at me.

“Can I talk to you,” He looked at Marcus, “privately?” 

I nodded and jump down from the bench, we were sitting on.

We walked away from Marcus and Vanessa and behind a tree. 

“What is it?” I looked at him, “Do you know who drugged her?” My eyes widened with hope.

“No. But, I have a small hunch on who might have done it.” He leaned against the tree trunk and gave a long sigh. 

“Marcus…?” 

He nodded.

I sighed, “How are we going to prove that he did it? The police already said it was a suicide, and they can't charge him without any proof.”

“Find a way to get inside his house, find anything that the police would take seriously, and report back to me tomorrow.”

“And… what if it isn't him?”

Omar looked at me blankly.

“I doubt it.”

I nodded and he turned around. “Let's go back.”

Before he could walk away from behind the tree, I grabbed his shoulder.

“Wait,” He stopped and looked behind him. “About Judy, did you know she had been drugged already?”

Omar looked at me weirdly, “She hadn't been drugged 'already'. Only… yesterday.”

“Then… what did she mean that this had happened over and over again??”

Omar looked back and didn't say anything for a while. 

“Judy… she…it was the only way to break out. And frankly, I applaud her for her bravery. She was a strong woman.” And with that, he left me. 

I joined them a few minutes later. 

Marcus and Vanessa seemed to be having some sort of argument because she was actively screaming and shouting. Omar didn't say anything. 

“Vanessa? What's going on?”

“What's going on is that my best friend is dead, and it's all this fucker's fault!!” She pointed towards Marcus.

Marcus didn't say anything and only faced me. 

“Uhm…-” 

“Why don't I and you take a break elsewhere?” Omar interrupted me and took Vanessa's arm. “I'm sure your throat is dry from all that crying and yelling.”

Vanessa didn't protest and moved away with him. Omar looked back at me and gave me a quick nod.

Marcus and I were left alone, in silence. 

I had to try and find a way to get into his house without breaking in. 

I sighed, today has been an awful day.

But, I'm not about to give up on her. I'm going to find out who took that video and drugged her. 

I looked back at Marcus, he was looking into the distance. 

“Marcus,” He turned towards me, “I… I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight alone. I would ask Omar, but he's going to be with Vanessa. Could I… possibly… stay with you?”

He tilted his head. “Do you seriously want to? I thought you doubted me?”

“I might doubt you, but I don't have any proof that you did it…”

“Mmm, okay then. Sure. You can stay with me, I'll drive us right now.”

“Now!? But I don't have my nightwear with me or anything!”

“You seem my size, and I have plenty of clothes back at mine.”

Before I could say anything else, two police officers walked up to us.

“You two can go home, expect the school to be off for a day or two, and also be expecting a phone call from us.” We both nodded and watched them walk away.

Abruptly, Marcus grabbed my hand and pulled me off the bench.

“Can't I say goodbye to Omar and Veronica first? It's also only noon, can't I come by your house later tonight?” I gave him a forced reassuring smile.

“Omar and Veronica have already left the school premises, and I don't trust you being alone.”

“Excuse me?? What is that supposed to mean??” I took my hand away, but he only took it back and held it firmer.

“I'd rather we go to my place now, it's good to have a shoulder to cry on and someone to vent to.”

His voice sounded more genuine and gentle, and I was way too tired to refuse. Plus, this might be my only chance to search around his house.

I nodded and he took me to his car. 

It was a black 2019 Buick Lacrosse. (I'm a car enthusiast). It looked nice too.

“Woah, you have a nice car. I ride the bus to school, heh.” He opened the passenger seat for me.

“Parent's money.” He got into the driver's seat and started up the car.

We both put on our seat belts and Marcus started to drive.

We both stood in silence for a while as Marcus concentrated on the road. I wondered how he could even see with the hair covering his eyes.

He pulled up to a gas station, mere minutes later.

“I'm just going to pick up some snacks for tonight, want anything?”

I shook my head and watched him get out and enter the gas station.

I took my chance and started to search his car.

I unfortunately only found wrappers and some crumbled scribbled notes.

I unfolded some and realized they were poems.

One said, “I wish that, Across your back, Was a zipper, And that I, Could just crawl in, Forever a part of you.”

Another said, “You can't. I don't want you to forget me. I need you to smile when I haven't talked to you. And I finally can. I just want to be good for you.”

And the most recent one… 

Let me in

It's a sin, you say, 

Don't listen to them,

 I want to breathe you in

Hold you in my arms

I can't stop thinking about you

Why do you have to be so far?

My eyes are blinded by your beauty

My mind clouded with thoughts of you

I can't get you out of my mind

Why can't you just be mine?

Don't make it any harder

Come to me sweetly

Just let me into your world

I will love you sincerely.

It's not that they weren't good, it's just that they were a little...creepy.

I continued to rummage, but didn't find any drugs or evidence that he did it.

Not that I expected it to be that easy.

I waited for Marcus to come back, which thankfully didn't take long.

“Hope I didn't keep you waiting for too long.” He set down a plastic bag at my feet and put on his seatbelt.

I know he noticed the scattered papers that I stupidly forgot to put away.

He smiled and faced the road. He started up the car and continued to drive to his house.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ 🏘️🏡🏠⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

He unlocked his front door and welcomed me in.

Something about his house seemed extremely familiar. I didn't like the feeling.

“My parents won't be home for a few weeks, so we have the place to ourselves.”

“You're acting as if we came to hang out…”

He didn't say anything back.

Marcus guided me upstairs to his room and settled the bag next to me.

“I'll go change, help yourself.” He smiled gently and left.

I quickly got up and started to search around. I was looking for anything, anything that could be used as evidence.

But I found nothing. 

I gave out an exasperated sigh and fell back onto the floor.

The doorknob jiggled open and out came Marcus. 

“Here you go, fresh nightwear for you.”

“Nightwear? It's not even the afternoon - what??”

I looked out the window to see the sun setting.

I swear, it was only just noon.

I took the clothes, hesitantly, and let Marcus lead me to the bathroom.

When I heard his footsteps grow distant, I continued my search in his bathroom.

AND I STILL FOUND NOTHING!!

Where can a man hide drugs besides his room or bathroom???

I groaned and got dressed.

I was about to leave when I noticed something peculiar. 

The bathroom had a small window at the end. It falls onto the outside garden that leads to the forest next to his house.

The window was wide and big enough for me to squeeze through too.

“Hey, you okay in there?” I hear Marcus ask from outside the door.

I acknowledge him but don't say anything back, instead, I walk closer to the window.

Hypothetically, if I were to jump out the window, I would most likely break only an arm or a leg-

BANG

Marcus suddenly punched the door.

It shocked me so much that I almost stumbled backwards.

I hurriedly opened the door, “Marcus!? What the hell is wrong with you??”

He quickly hugged me tightly. 

“I thought you-” He looked towards the window and dragged me out of the bathroom.

“Never mind that, it's been a long day for both of us.”

We walked back to his room, and we sat on his bed.

He put his hand on my shoulder, and I was immediately overcome with a wave of emotions.

All the recent events flashed before my eyes.

I started to cry again.

Marcus brought my head onto his shoulder.

And that night, I cried onto Marcus di Angelo's shoulder, 

Judy's possible murderer.

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Want to read ahead? Click here!

#horror #analogue horror #scp #analogue #scp foundation #tadc #x transmasc reader #yandere #x male reader #male reader #ftm reader #x reader #x female reader #x transfem reader #SIN #wattpad writer #wattpad #oc #my ocs #original character #chapter 5 #yandere male #tw yandere #soft yandere #male yandere #romantic yandere #gay #x male y/n #x male oc #hazbin angel dust

[amostimprobabledream]

Ignite Me (Homelander x Reader) Part Four

Hey guys! Here’s chapter four of Ignite Me! In this chapter, he stops playing quite so nice. This story is also available on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/42771771/chapters/107448564 Vought Tower kind of reminded you of a giant anthill. A bright, high-tech anthill, with literal glass ceilings and fancy coffee machines on every floor, but an anthill, nonetheless. Assistants, IT support, PAs, cleaners, they were all scurrying around at a pace that made them look like somebody had put them on fast-forward. Sure, you know how the corporate world worked, but you found it dizzying to watch them. It was as if somebody had put speed in their morning coffees. You fidgeted in the plush leather seat an assistant had dumped you in when you'd arrived at reception. She ran off to find Ashley Barrett, mumbling something about Vought having way too many floors to check. You just hoped your outfit would pass muster - you'd been instructed to dress nicely but not too formal, apparently Vought wanted the interview to come off as relaxed and informal, which apparently required a considerable amount of prep to pull off. You smirked to yourself at the irony, scrolling idly through your phone. Your mind kept wandering back to Homelander, like a tongue straying towards a gap between your teeth. He said he'd be there during the interview today, so you presumed he'd be discussing the bank robbery in more detail before they brought you in to corroborate his story. To be honest, this all felt a bit excessive - you hadn't even been aware a police standoff was going on at the time, or you certainly wouldn't have walked down that damn street in the first place. You'd only managed to remain conscious for a few minutes after getting shot, it was hardly riveting journalism. You weren't an idiot, of course. You knew what Vought were trying to sell - they wanted a fairytale moment, wherein you, the damsel in distress, were so overwhelmed with relief and joy at seeing America's hero arriving to your aid, you couldn't help but kiss him. You got all that, it was just hard to believe that people would be so gullible. Your thoughts were interrupted when a woman in a garish pantsuit came into the room, an assistant scuttling after her – presumably this was Ashley Barrett. She looked like she’d lain down in crushed rhinestones and rolled around in them, and a phone was clamped to her ear. You closed the cat video you’d been watching hastily and stood up. “Hi there! It’s so great to finally meet you!” Ashley said, her voice just a little bit too chirpy for it to be sincere, holding out her hand. “I’m Ashley, we spoke on the phone.” “Yes, hello.” You greeted her awkwardly, shaking her hand. “Uh, sorry about hanging up on you the first time.” You weren’t sorry at all, you still considered the fact Vought had gone so far as to get your phone number – to say nothing of The Homelander barging into your apartment like he owned it – a massive invasion of privacy, but it wouldn’t hurt to play nice for now. “Oh, don’t worry about it, I’ve had worse responses from calling people,” Ashley replied, waving your apology away. Her tone shifted from chirpy to businesslike as she added, “Now, we’ve got the studio downstairs all ready, we’ll feed you a few questions, you answer as best you can, you know, talk about how good it felt to know you were going to be saved, say some stuff about Homelander-“ “Is he here right now?” you asked, trying to sound casual, lest the fact you couldn’t stop touching your mouth after Homelander flew from your balcony somehow translate into your voice or facial expression. It was utterly ludicrous of you to have a crush on him, so you were determined to continue pretending otherwise. Even if you were going to have to gush over him rescuing you in a few minutes. “Oh, he’s dealing with something else right now, but he’ll be here soon,” Ashley said, tapping something into her phone. “Right, of course,” you nodded, willing the butterflies in your stomach to settle down. You felt slightly like you were going to throw up, actually. Being on camera wasn’t something you were used to, and even if you did occasionally upload a video of yourself to social media, at least you were the one in control of the camera. “Okay, let’s go down then, hair and makeup are on standby and then we need to do some lighting tests to make sure everything’s perfect.” Ashley said. “Oh, that’s okay, I’ve already done my hair and makeup,” you said, waving in the general direction of your face – you’d spent a while trying to decide what would look best on camera, trying several looks out (and poking yourself in the eye with the mascara wand – twice), before settling on something you thought was cute. But Ashley cast a dismissive glance in your direction. “You said you wanted a casual kind of look, so I- “ “Yeah, no, that’s not really the look we’re going for,” she drawled, clicking her fingers at her assistant, who hurried over and held the door for her, head bowed. “We’ll need to redo that. This way.” She clicked off before you had time to respond, barking down the phone at someone called Gina to get her shit together. You stared at her back in disbelief. Bitch.

~ Getting ready for what’s supposed to be a short ‘informal’ interview seemed to take forever. Aside from your makeup and hair skills being insulted, you’re poked and prodded and talked over by a flurry of people – so many assistants and makeup artists flitting in and out that you stop bothering to remember their faces. It’s easier that way. When you’re finally deemed ready, you’re herded out into the studio where the interview would be taking place by Ashley’s second in command. The bright lighting made your eyes narrow, the buzzing feeling that had started up with all the noise going on in the dressing room throbbing a little. Ugh. “Ah, there she is!” a familiar voice called. You tried not to look excited as you looked around to see Homelander approaching. He crossed the room in a few confident strides and before you even had time to sputter out a greeting, he’d pulled you into a warm, firm hug. Though it was a lot less intimate than a kiss, you felt your face growing hot. It was a nice hug, true – he clearly knew very well how strong he was, so his hold was gentle, but you could still tell there was immense power in those arms. It felt like the safest place in the world and you had to work hard to keep the disappointment off your face when he let go. He smelled good, too. “Homelander, hi.” You said, relieved to see someone you kind of knew, even if his mere presence seemed to shrink everyone else around him. “Well, hello.” He hummed in response, eyeing you up and down and you felt your skin tingling in response. You hoped he wasn’t judging your outfit, though since he’d already seen you in your loafing-around-the-house sweatpants, what you have on had to be an improvement. “You ready to do this, sweetheart?” “I guess so,” you lied, giving a small nod, not quite meeting his eyes when you said it. Of course you didn’t feel ready, but what would be the point in admitting it? You’re here now, and absurd as the situation felt, it was happening one way or another. “Great,” Homelander said, but his attention was already elsewhere – the reporters were here. He looked up like an animal scenting its prey – he could probably see them through the wall. “Well, you know what they say. Lights, camera, action!”                                                                                                                                                 ~ The bright lighting had officially given you a headache, you could feel it blossoming like a poisonous flower in your temples. You felt like you’d been sitting in this chair for ages, and you really hoped your deodorant was holding up. Homelander talked a bit about being told about the robbery and going down to check it out with Maeve. He's completely at ease in front of cameras, like he’s merely chatting with an old friend. But even though you were answering the questions with the kind of praise Ashley was looking for, you felt more like you were fending off a pack of wolves with a stick. “Yes, it was a surprise to see The Homelander show up – it was like a lottery win!” “No, I didn’t see the gunman, but I understand Queen Maeve was the one who took him down.” “I’m just so grateful we have people like Homelander to save us from a situation like that – I don’t know where I’d be without him.” After every question you answered, another one was thrown at you, though at least the reporters seemed to like what they were hearing, they were nodding and smiling. You were smiling a lot too – it was kind of hurting your face. How did Homelander and the rest of the Seven do this all day long? But when the kiss came up, the questions got…weird. “And now onto that kiss,” one reporter with sandy blonde hair grinned. “Exactly what were you thinking when you did that?” “I don’t know, really,” you said, wishing desperately you had a stronger drink than the now-lukewarm water next to your chair. Your mouth felt dry no matter how much of it you sipped. “I suppose I was just so happy to know I was going to be rescued I just…did it.” “Understandable,” someone muttered. “It looked like you were enjoying it!” a woman piped up and the men around her laughed. “Uh…yeah, haha…” you said, aware of Homelander sitting beside you. You wonder how it felt not being the center of attention when he did all the hard work, even it’s only for a moment. “Did you have some ulterior motives in mind?” one article writer asked, snidely. You blinked, startled and not a little insulted, leaning back in your chair in a subconscious effort to distance yourself from the question. “What?” “Well, you know. You kiss the most well-known Supe in America and suddenly you’re doing an interview about it – and I bet you were paid handsomely to come here. Seems like a good deal to me.” “That’s not true!” you burst out, suddenly angry. God, this was just like the internet commenters and the gossipy bitches at work all over again! “You don’t know what it was like to be in that situation – I was terrified, I didn’t think- “ You’re going wildly off track – nothing in Ashley’s instructions told you to mention that and it’s not the ’vibe’ Vought were going for. They want you to be starstruck, not staring into the gaping maw of your own morality. And the way this guy was saying it, like you’re some kind of femme fatale just waiting to suck face with someone famous – like you didn’t have more pressing concerns at the time, like the fucking bullet wound in your body! Nobody’s asked a single question about that, your injuries or feelings are inconsequential. Homelander rested a hand on your knee and gave it a squeeze, though whether he meant for it to be reassuring or a warning you weren’t sure anymore. “That’s an off-topic question,” Homelander said, and though he had his usual smile on his face, his voice was a growl and the glare he was shooting the man who had spoken made the smirk slide right off his face. “Maybe you should get out if you can’t do your fucking job correctly?” The tension was too much. The small ache in your head had bloomed from a mild annoyance to a full-on pounding. You knew if you stayed here for much longer it would turn into an outright migraine and if it got that bad, you had no idea how you’d even get home, much less continue gushing about Homelander in front of a bunch of cameras and microphones. You were stiflingly hot under the baking lights and with all the focus on you – you were sure you had pit stains soaking through your T-shirt and you only hoped people wouldn’t notice it too much. “Excuse me,” you said, getting up. The room dipped for a second, the lights burning to such an intense brightness they were blotting out the faces of the people sitting in front of them. “I just need a second.” You ignored the jabbering this set off from the reporters and slipped off the set and through a side room you vaguely remembered lead into one of the makeup rooms. Thankfully it was empty – presumably the girls who had been ‘fixing’ your makeup had fled for a well-deserved break and get out from beneath Ashley’s heel. There’s a fridge full of water and you picked one up, not to drink, but pressing it against your forehead in a move to stave off your headache. A bead of water gathered on the side of the smooth, chilly plastic and dribbled down your wrist. Your skin was so hot after sitting under those lights you found it quite pleasant. Of course, your few moments of silence didn’t last. The door swung open, and Ashley came into the room like an agitated disco ball, and Homelander followed a few steps behind her at a much more languid pace, hands tucked behind his back again. “You can’t just do that!” Ashley blurted out immediately, her already large eyes looking like they were in danger of popping out of her head. “Okay, we already told you what to say, the studio’s got another slot booked later this afternoon, we can’t waste all day while you get it together!” “Look, I did tell you I didn’t think this was a good idea. I’m not really built for being aggressively interrogated, or people insinuating shit,” you snapped. “Those soundbites weren’t very helpful when they’re the ones who went off-topic. Maybe Homelander should just do the interview by himself.” “I’ll talk to them.” Homelander said, and both your and Ashley’s attention snapped to him. It suddenly struck you as funny he’d let Ashley lead the conversation – normally Homelander immediately seized control of the room and commanded it, but on that occasion, he seemed content to observe for the moment, like he was watching a play. “Tell them to ask the questions Vought told them we’d answer. But we can’t just cancel the interview now – you agreed to come down here, sweetheart.” Ashley was nodding her head, like one of those little dogs people put on the dashboards of their cars. “Right, absolutely, and it won’t play right with the audience if you-“ Goddamn it with the numbers again! For such a big company, they  all obsessed over points and rankings the way a teenage girl obsessed over how many followers she had. You were getting sick of hearing it. “What, am I supposed to help you boost your popularity points now?” you snarked, folding your arms. Ooh, Homelander didn’t like that. You could tell by the way he tilted his head back, all the better to stare down at you. The smile remained on his face, though, like it was bolted there and not inclined to slip away easily. “We’ve already gotten some soundbites we need,” Ashley jumped in, and you noticed her shooting a quick glance at Homelander, but you didn’t know what that look meant. “We just need to get through this last stretch of interview, so- “ “Ashley, give us five minutes, will you?” Homelander said, irritation finally making that smile of his drop entirely and he rolled his eyes emphatically. “I’m not surprised she has a fuckin’ headache.” Ashley looked surprised, and you were as well – how did Homelander know you had a headache? You supposed it was probably obvious from how you’d been squinting under the harsh lighting and the sickly tint to your complexion, but you’d assumed he was too busy schmoozing with the journalists to notice. “Right, I’ll just…” Ashley said, slipping out the door, fingers already flying to her little earpiece. The door shut behind her with a click. You sighed and lowered your arms, squeezing the water bottle in your hand, the coldness of it bringing some kind of relief to you, an anchor in this confusing place you’d been unwittingly thrust into. “I’m sorry,” you told Homelander, popping the top off the water and taking a swig. “I didn’t think it would be like this. It’s…overwhelming.” Homelander hummed in response, dragging a tongue over his bottom lip. “Mm, I get it.” he said, nodding like he’d decided on something he’d been mulling over for a while. There’s something about the way he does it that made you feel like it was a performance of some sort, though why he felt the need to perform at all in front of you, you had no idea. “Then, how about I give you a little free advice?” “Sure.” You said. Homelander’s lip curled. "How about...you suck it the fuck up, princess?" You stared at him in shock. You couldn't have been more surprised than if he'd reached over and slapped you. It was naive of you to be so taken aback, but Homelander had never spoken to you like that before and the viciousness of his tone rendered you speechless. It’s like he’s taken off a mask to reveal a snarling beast beneath it. “What?” you echoed, voice small in the quiet of the room. “What?” he imitated you in a high-pitched voice, rolling his eyes the same way he had when he spoke to Ashley. “I said, suck it the fuck up.” He started to pace the small room, and you backed up against the very dresser you’d been sitting in not two hours ago. “Do you think I wanted to do this?” he demanded of you, disdain sharpening every word like a whetstone. “Hmm? You don’t think I had anything better, more important, to do than answer some fucking stupid questions from a bunch of jackasses over one measly little bank robbery? I mean, come on! It’s so – how many robberies do you think I’ve stopped in my career, sweetheart? Go on, take a guess.” “I…I don’t- “you said, hating how tiny your voice sounded – you sounded so much younger than you actually were. “Thousands! They all blur together, they’re nothing! But ohhh no, lately all people can talk about is new Supes, who’s gonna be next in the Seven, why haven’t you done this, go to that, be here, say this! All this goddamn grubbing for points.” He dragged a gloved hand through his hair, which had grown a little messy in his agitation and when he spoke again, it was in a mocking, sickly-sweet tone. “But you know what? That’s what fucking adults do. It’s what a professional does. They don’t just wimp out because they don’t like it. That’s not how it works.” He finally stopped prowling around like a caged lion, turning his gaze back onto you and you stood stock still. "You people," he hissed at you, jabbing a finger in your direction. "You always do this when you don't want to do something. 'Oh, I can't, my anxiety!' 'Ooh, this is triggering me!' ‘Help, this isn’t what I signed up for!’ For fuck’s sake. Like it’s so hard for you. Like you have the slightest fucking idea of how hard it really is, doing this bullshit all the time.” He scoffed. “Your only job is to sit there, look pretty and talk about how grateful you are that I saved your fucking life. Think you can manage that?" His tone oozed sarcasm, biting and sharp and it's ridiculous, but you can feel your eyes begging to tear up. All from a shift in mood, but he'd been so genial with you before and you've never seen him like this. Was this really the same person who’d asked you to kiss him goodbye before he left your apartment? “Yes,” you said in a whisper, pressing your lips together. You would not start crying. “I understand.” You didn’t know what else to say – he was staring at you like he was daring you to say something else, but when you didn’t and continued to stand there, the back of the chair you’re up against pressing uncomfortably against your back, the fight left his eyes. He exhaled heavily, like he’s the one who had just been berated. “Good.” He said, drawing himself back up. “Then I’ll see you out there in five minutes.” It's an instruction and you nodded again, because you’d do anything to get him to leave the room right now. Homelander gave one curt nod and left the room, his cape billowing behind him importantly as he did. When he was finally gone – you heard him snapping at someone else in the adjacent room, though why or who didn’t matter – you rubbed the back of your wrist across your eyes and sniffed. You drank the rest of the water, but instead of cool and refreshing now it just tasted like ice. Remembering some breathing technique from when you were little, you did it now, breathing in and out. You know it’s childish. So what if Homelander snapped at you? He saved your life. Maybe he was as sick of smiling for the camera as you were. He’d been nice to you all the other times you’d spoken to him. Everyone was allowed an off day, right? Maybe he just had exacting standards when it came to interviews. It wasn’t a big deal. But still… You wanted to go home, but first, you had to compose yourself and finish the interview. Smile for the fucking cameras and say your lines. You didn’t have a choice. ~ You didn’t remember much of the rest of the interview. You were able to plaster a fake smile on your face and give some insubstantial nonsense about how grateful you were to be there, how you truly did feel indebted to Homelander for taking you to hospital. Those weren’t lies – it’s just you didn’t feel them at the moment you were saying them. Once you were finally done, you pretended to need the bathroom and slipped out of the room while the cameramen and other various assistants hurried to praise Homelander for how well he did, how natural he sounded and how awesome this all would make him look. Well, fucking bully for Homelander. You made it to the lobby before Ashley caught up to you. “That was great!” she gushed, seemingly oblivious to your exhaustion. “Little shaky at the starts, but it all looked good, and we got the exact tone we were looking for- “ You tuned her out, because she was still babbling about audiences loving it and internet response and a lot of other meaningless babble you frankly couldn’t have given one iota of a fuck about. Eventually Ashley said something about a Vought car being driven around to take you home later. “Yeah, don’t bother.” You said, not bothering to hide your apathy anymore. “I’m going home now. And that’s the only interview I’m ever doing for you again.” A look of mild alarm finally pierced Ashley’s self-contained happy bubble. “But – what should I tell Homelander?!” she spluttered. “Tell him what you like,” you shrugged, and it was an ironic bonus that the numbness you felt after being so harshly berated earlier made you sound like you truly didn’t give a shit. “I’m done.” Without giving her a chance to respond, you walked out of the doors and into the bright afternoon sunshine. It was the total opposite of the heat you’d felt from the studio lighting – warm and comforting, and you tilted your head back to soak it up like a flower. You were going home. Taglist: @zoleea-exultant

#Homelander x Reader #The Boys (2019) #Homelander #Fanfiction #The Boys x Reader #Writings #Homelander x You